


To Touch is to Heal, to Hurt is to Steal

by knittycat99, nubianamy



Series: The Donutverse [25]
Category: Glee
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Coffee Shops, Dalton Academy, Discipline, Dom/sub, Donutverse, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Instability, Orgasm Control, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship Negotiation, Service Submission, Singing, Spanking, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-03-26 15:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19008235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittycat99/pseuds/knittycat99, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: When Kurt Hummel transfers to Dalton to rescue his boyfriend Blaine Anderson from the mental instability imposed by his controlling father, he establishes a reputation for himself as a professional Dominant.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story intersects with [Any Minute Now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232906/), the season 2 [Donutverse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/10911) story, and encompasses the events that occur at Dalton while Kurt is there for five months (between Furt 2x08 and Born This Way 2x18).
> 
> For those of you not following the main thread of the Donutverse, here’s the summary of the last two million words: Kurt, Puck, Finn and Blaine are juniors in high school in a committed BDSM relationship. Puck and Kurt are also in a relationship with Adam Lambert, who's currently on tour. Puck's daughter Beth is living with them at the Hudson-Hummel house part time and with Shelby Corcoran part time. The boys are good friends with Will Schuester's fiancé Toby, who is the choreographer for Vocal Adrenaline. Blaine and Dave were childhood friends; Dave's closeted and in love with Blaine, and they're just starting to put together their friendship again. Blaine and Santana were also childhood friends. For more spoilery details, [read the detailed summaries of every Donutverse story here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/292318).  
> 
> If you want to read the chapters of the Donutverse that involve Blaine, you can find [links to all his appearances here](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/184955798974/donutverse-blaine). If you are not reading Any Minute Now along with this story, at the very least you will want to read [the Sanctuary chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232906/chapters/20710675) and [the part from 2x06 Never Been Kissed in which Kurt goes to Dalton](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232906/chapters/43090958). 
> 
> Warnings in this story for Dom/sub interactions and discipline, including spanking and psychological domination, and examples of poorly defined boundaries in D/s relationships. Herein I describe a fictional business-like arrangement for the express purpose of delivery of discipline. This is not meant to provide a realistic model of such a business. Also, Blaine in this story struggles with his mental health. I am not a doctor or a therapist, and I have no authority by which to claim any of the treatments suggested in this story might work to manage mental health.

 

Jeff scanned the dining hall for Blaine, but couldn’t find him in the sea of bodies crowding in for pizza night.  He hadn’t seen him in the locker room after practice, either, but that wasn’t unusual because Blaine’s soccer got out later than Jeff’s crew; most nights they ended up connecting in the dining hall, and Blaine hadn’t mentioned a study group or anything like that.

He finally spotted him next to the soft-serve machine. Blaine looked more wound up than usual, shifting from foot to foot and startling at the laughter coming from the basketball team’s table. He didn’t make strong eye contact with Jeff, but instead focused on his tray, which barely had enough food on it to keep a child going, much less a sixteen-year-old boy.  

Jeff frowned at him. It was always a toss-up whether he’d see Perfect Blaine or Whiny Blaine on any given day. In front of other people, it was always Perfect Blaine, but back in their room, he sometimes acted like this bratty little kid instead. It certainly put Perfect Blaine into sharp relief, but it was also a reminder of how fake Perfect Blaine really was. Not that anyone but those girls from Lima, Santana and Brittany, knew that.

“There’s baked potato,” Jeff said, nodding to the salad bar, but Blaine just shrugged.

“Not hungry,” he mumbled. He filled a tiny bowl with less than a quarter of a cup of chocolate ice cream. Jeff walked close beside him as he made his way to an empty table along the wall.

“Are you studying for that Latin quiz after dinner?” he prompted, fishing for anything that would pull Blaine out of this funk. Jeff didn’t have many tools that were appropriate for the cafeteria, and Blaine wasn’t responding.  When Blaine shrugged again, he sighed loudly. “Do I need to drag you to the IM building? You haven’t practiced boxing in weeks.”

“Boxing doesn’t help,” Blaine said softly, pushing his vegetables around his plate with his fork. “Nothing helps. What’s the point of even trying anymore?”

“Because Whiny Blaine’s not going to cut it with me,” Jeff snapped.  

Blaine rolled his eyes and pushed his tray away. “What should I care?” he said, anger simmering in his tone. 

Jeff couldn’t decide whether to force the issue or to let Blaine go; the response to his threat was stronger than anything he’d seen in Blaine for weeks. He didn’t want to push Blaine into shutting down again, but he also didn’t want to let him get away with such obvious bratting.

He would have to pull out the big guns. Perfect Blaine usually blinked away mentions of Finn, Kurt and Puck, as though they didn’t exist, but Whiny Blaine sometimes knew about them, and he didn’t like hearing about them at all.

“Fine,” he said, pulling out his cell phone. “Let’s see what Finn thinks when I tell him exactly what a pain in the ass you’re being.”

Blaine went pale, and though he didn’t sit down, he braced himself on the edge of the table.

“No,” he whispered. “I mean, I don't… no.”

“In that case, go get a goddamn baked potato. And butter. And bacon.” Jeff crossed his arms, gesturing at the salad bar. “And you’re having dessert. Cake, I think.”

Blaine glowered at him, and mumbled something under his breath that Jeff couldn’t hear, but he did head over to the salad bar and the dessert table before coming back with a baked potato that had not only bacon, but also broccoli and cheese, and a piece of the really good chocolate cake that was probably the best thing about the Dalton cafeteria.

Jeff nodded in approval. “Better. When you’re done with that, we’re going to go study for Latin. And you’re going to bed early tonight, understand?” He watched Blaine choking down the cake like it was dirt, and he felt a pang of sympathy. “I’ll call anyway. He should know how well you listened to me tonight.”

Blaine set his fork down, took a sip of his milk, and looked at Jeff with desperate eyes.

“Please,” he whispered. “I need to hear him.”

Jeff stared at him. _Well, that was new._ Blaine hadn’t asked about any of them this whole semester, had in fact seemed to have lost interest.

“Who?” he asked curiously. “Who do you want to hear?”

Blane opened his mouth, his eyes skittering over the cafeteria, and licked dry lips.

“Finn,” he whispered, then glanced around again, as though someone could hear him. As though his _dad_ could hear him. And who knew, maybe he could? Jeff wouldn’t put anything past that man.

Jeff hated to deny Blaine. Anyone with eyes could see that Blaine was an utter wreck, but Mr. Anderson’s threat in August had been crystal clear: if Blaine had any contact with Finn or Puck at all, he’d be yanked from Dalton and sent far away, where nobody was going to be able to take care of him.  

He shook his head reluctantly. “No can do, babe.  First line of business is to keep you in school. That means you toe the line, no matter how you feel.”

Blaine actually growled as he poked at his cake. “I _hate_ the way I feel. I don’t have any appetite at all. Nothing is interesting. It’s like I’m walking around in a paper bag.”

Jeff almost smiled. It was the first he’d heard Blaine, even Whiny Blaine, be able to contrast his current state with the way it used to be. Hearing Blaine talk like that, with some of his old fire, gave him hope that maybe things would be back to normal someday.

“I wish you didn’t have to do it, but that’s what’s keeping you here.” Jeff stacked his plates on his tray. “We just need to deal.”

“It would be better if I could just get what I _need.”_  Blaine dropped his head into his hands. “This all just—just fucking sucks.”

“I know.” Jeff tugged on Blaine’s arm gently. “You know I could take care of that for you.”

“No.” Blaine looked up and stared at him. “It doesn’t feel right. Not because it’s coming from you, just… _Nothing_ feels right, I can’t… god, Jeff. I can’t breathe.” He took another half-hearted sip of his milk. “It feels like it did before we went to the club. Before you gave me the… you know.”

“Well, you can just forget about that,” Jeff said, raising an eyebrow and tossing his napkin on his tray. “Finn said no more coke for you, and I’m listening to him. Are you?”

Blaine slumped back in his chair, and even though he didn't say _yes_ , he also didn't continue to belabor the point.

“Hello, Sterling,” they heard, and both boys straightened up, looking up to see Mrs. White smiling at them. “Anderson.”

“Ma’am,” Blaine said, with an impossibly bright smile in return. Jeff ached to see how easily his show face came up.  

“How’s your project coming, gentleman?  I’m quite looking forward to it.  I have to admit, most boys don’t think about feminist perspectives in modern literature at all.”

Jeff smiled his own showy smile, mostly because he wanted Mrs. White to leave them alone. “Blaine and I both read a lot, and it seemed like a point of view that tends to get lost at Dalton, for obvious reasons.” He waved his hand around the dining hall, where, aside from Mrs. White and some of the cafeteria workers, there was not a woman in sight.

Blaine’s posture was relaxed as he nodded. “Don’t worry, Mrs. White. We’ll have it done by Thursday.” She seemed satisfied by this.  

Blaine didn’t shed the act until they had left their dishes in the tub and were well down the hall toward the stairs.  Then Jeff watched the protective cover fall away one piece at a time, leaving Blaine small and shuttered. By the time they were in their room, he was fidgety and trembling.

“Fuck a duck, Blaine,” Jeff muttered unhappily as he closed the door behind them. He looked Blaine over. “How do you get through the day?”

“Growing up in my father’s house taught me hundreds of ways to cope with the world,” Blaine said. He sounded exhausted. “It’s just something I’ve always done.”

Jeff hadn’t really expected an answer. The fact that Blaine was lucid enough to reflect on what he was _doing_ made Jeff wonder if he might respond to more aggressive prompting. He hesitated, then walked right up to Blaine and pulled him into an embrace.  He felt Blaine struggle for a minute, fighting it, but Jeff hung on, and eventually Blaine quieted, leaning against Jeff with a shuddering sigh.  

“Well, you don’t have to do it here.” He held Blaine as tight as he could, hoping it would help. “Here, you can be whoever you need to be. You really can.”

“No!” Blaine blurted, trying to pull away in panic.  Jeff could hear the desperation in his voice. “I can’t be myself here because you already told me you won’t give me what I need. Jesus, Jeff. Please. I need to feel something. I need some coke. _Please.”_

Jeff just held on, thankful for hours rowing on the river and in the gym, because Blaine was strong when he was fighting.  

“You _don’t_ need it,” he whispered into Blaine’s ear. “You don’t. You’re just fine, Blaine. You don’t need to party to get through this.” He grasped Blaine’s shoulders and held him so that he could look into his eyes. “Got it?”  

Blaine was fighting the tears and losing, but he nodded. “I understand.” He looked at Jeff, his face desolate. “Are you really going to call him? Or was that just a threat?”

Jeff nodded, watching Blaine carefully. There was that awareness again. “I call him every week, just to check in, to let him know how you are. I’ve been doing it since the semester began.”

Blaine let his eyes close. “Thank you,” he whispered. He cleared his throat. “I saw… somebody. In the audience at Java the Hut a couple weeks ago. I—he talked to me. That was Kurt, right?”

He sounded so uncertain, it just about broke Jeff’s heart, but it was the closest Blaine had come to talking about _any_ of them all semester. He reached out and took Blaine’s hand. “It could have been, babe. I wasn’t there.”

“God.” Blaine blinked away the tears, his eyes shifting across the floor in bewilderment. “Kurt came to visit Dalton last week, didn’t he.”

“Yeah, he did. That was Kurt. He loves you.”

“He was here, watching us sing. I wasn’t sure if I should… I mean, he didn’t even look like he knew me. I just pretended I didn’t know him. And then at his high school, there was… somebody else…” Blaine’s grimace took over his face, and he covered his mouth. “Oh, god. What am I doing, Jeff?”

He squeezed Blaine’s hand, hard enough to hurt. “You’re doing what you have to, to get through it.”

“But I don’t think I am,” he cried. “I don’t think I’m getting through it. I think I’m—I’m _stuck_. Like I’m never going to go anywhere else but here.” He squinted up his eyes, shaking his head like he was trying to get rid of something. “I can’t keep doing this. I don’t know what to do.”

Jeff cast around for something, anything he could offer. “You… do you want to listen on speakerphone, while I call? You could hear his voice.”

He wasn’t sure how Blaine would receive the suggestion, but he straightened right up, his face more hopeful than Jeff had seen in weeks. “Yeah?”

“You’d have to stay very quiet,” Jeff said, but Blaine nodded vigorously.

“I won’t say anything, I promise. Just, if I could hear, with you here…” He was speaking rapidly, the words falling over themselves as he pleaded with his eyes. “Sometimes I think he calls me, and I'm not sure it's real, but if you listen too—so I know I’m not just making him up in my head? Then I would know for sure.”

Jeff considered the implications of the bizarre request, even as he marveled over Blaine’s desire to make it. “He calls you?”

“I don't know,” Blaine said. He bit his lip. “Maybe I imagined it. Can you—?”

He hesitated. “Let me call and ask him first. I don’t want to get either of you in trouble. But if he says it’s okay, we can do that.”

Blaine relaxed visibly. While he settled on the edge of his bed, Jeff hit his speed-dial and put the phone to his ear, hoping that he wasn’t interrupting football or dinner on Finn’s end.

 _“Jeff. Hey, man. Everything okay?”_ Finn’s voice sounded echoey, like he was in his car.

“Talking and driving, Finn?” Jeff teased, feeling the tension in his gut.  

Finn laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. _“I’m bringing my dad’s old steamer trunk up from the basement.”_

“Somebody going on a trip?”

_“Something like that. I’ll tell you about it later.”_

“How are things? Any progress with people at home?” He didn’t say Puck’s name, but Finn would know who he was talking about.

 _“Some.”_ Finn sounded tense and worried. _“Sometimes Puck’s still sick, but it’s getting better, and he's making progress with Lauren. She's giving him what he needs.”_

“I guess that's better than nothing?” Jeff glanced over at Blaine, who appeared to be staring off into space, but it was hard to know for sure what was going on inside that brain of his. “Look. We all know what the rules are, and I don’t want to get you guys in trouble or anything, but... he asked about you tonight. By name.”

There was a quick intake of breath, then silence, before Finn whispered, _“Yeah?”_

“Yeah, I asked who he wanted to talk to and he said _Finn._ ” Blaine looked up when he heard Finn’s name, rubbing his hand against the bedspread in a familiar repetitive gesture. “And he said he recognized Kurt when he was here.”

 _“Kurt thought maybe he had, at least at the coffeehouse. But then the way he was at Dalton…”_ Finn trailed off.

“He asked if I’d put you on speaker so he could at least hear you.” 

 _“Jeez,”_ he heard Finn say roughly, like it was the last straw. Jeff held his breath.

“I said I’d ask, because I know it's against the rules, but I’ve said _no_ to him about a lot of things tonight already.”

_“I think…  I think I’m going to have to say screw the rules today. Because if he's asking, that might be more important.”_

“Okay… hold on.” He sat next to Blaine and switched his phone to speaker. “Go ahead, Finn.”

 _“Baby?”_ Finn’s murmur hit Blaine’s ear, and he tilted his head, like he was trying to remember a forgotten tune.  

“He hears you,” Jeff said softly. “Just… keep going.”

_“God, I don't even know where to begin.”_

Jeff sharpened his gaze on Blaine. “Is that who called you?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

He watched Blaine’s brow furrow. Then Blaine looked at him and shook his head. Jeff opened his mouth to ask for more details, but Finn went on.

_“So much has happened, but—that's not even important, you know? I just want you to know that none of this is your fault.”_

Blaine rocked back like he'd been punched in the gut. He covered his mouth and began to shake.

 _“Do you understand?”_ Finn asked, his voice gentle. _“We love you. When you're ready, we’ll be there. Just say the word.”_

But Blaine wasn't saying any words. He was wadded up in a tiny ball on the bed, clutching his hand to his face in an effort to keep from making any noise at all.  

“He hears you,” Jeff said. “But he’s not allowed to talk to you.”

 _“That’s just—”_ Finn began angrily, then cut himself off. When he spoke again, it was with calm authority. _“Blaine. Tell me: who is in charge of you?”_

Jeff asked that question regularly, but the answer since September had been some variation of _my father knows what's best for me, I’m an Anderson._ Today, however, hearing Finn ask it, Blaine clearly wasn't sure.

He glanced uncertainly at Jeff, who nodded. It was all the permission he was going to get, and Jeff hoped it would be enough to get through to him.

“You are,” he whispered, as though to himself. Then, to Jeff: “Is—is that right?”

“That’s right,” Jeff said, trying to keep his own voice even.

“Because sometimes I think—there’s another boy, and he tells me—but I'm never sure in the morning. I don’t know what’s real, and…” Blaine edged closer to the phone, looking at it like it was some miraculous technology. “Finn?”

 _“Yes,”_ Finn said, with absolute relief. _“I am. And I’m telling you, we are going to take care of this. Me, and Kurt, and—and everybody.”_

Jeff wondered if Blane had any sense of who the _everybody_ might include, but the wild hope on his face said it didn't matter: Blaine believed Finn. He let out a long breath.

“Don't stop,” Jeff urged. “Tell him what he can do. He needs—”

 _“I know what he needs,”_ Finn murmured. _“He needs to let go. Blaine, baby… you've been trying so hard to be strong. It's time to stop. Do you understand? Stop trying to pretend you're okay.”_

The intent look on Blaine's face would have been comical if it hadn't been so heartbreaking. He looked at Jeff and licked his lips. Jeff sighed.

“That's like telling a spring to uncoil. He's going to need time to retrain those Anderson instincts.”

 _“That's okay. Blaine knows how to work hard.”_ Finn already sounded ten times better, and Blaine was responding to Finn’s confidence like it was the sweetest nourishment. _“He can do it. He just needs to know he's doing it right. Kurt and Dave and Santana, they have a plan.”_

“A plan,” echoed Jeff. He tried not to sound too skeptical.

_“Kurt’s on his way to Dalton, Jeff. He’s coming tomorrow, and he’s going to stay. But, Blaine, you have to try to let Kurt in a little bit when you see him. You need to let him get close to you. It’s important. He knows how to help you do it right. Can you do that?”_

“Y-yes.” Blaine straightened up on his bed, wiping his eyes with his hands. “Yes. I can do that.”

 _“Good.”_ Finn sighed again, this time in relief. _“That’s my good boy. Do you have any homework tonight?”_

Jeff watched Blaine unfolding under the effect of Finn’s voice, like a seedling straining toward the light of the sun, eager for any bit of encouragement. It was the first significant change Blaine had shown since the beginning of the semester. “Jeff and I were going to study for our Latin quiz.”  

 _“You sound like you might be ready for bed. Jeff’ll know when you’ve had enough.”_ Jeff could hear the message inherent in his words: _Don’t push him too hard tonight, or he’ll break._

“No problem,” Jeff replied evenly. “We just need a little review.”

_“All right.We’ll take care of this, Blaine. Trust me.”_

Blaine nodded to himself. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, and it sounded like he might actually believe it.

But as soon as Jeff hung up the phone, Blaine turned to him in horror.

“Puck,” he gasped. “I didn’t ask about Puck.”

“He… wasn’t there tonight.” That was sort of true, at least. Finn had said it differently, but Jeff had some idea of what might be going on.  “Maybe you can talk to him next time. Can you lie down here with me before we start looking at the Latin?”

Blaine was perfectly obedient, letting Jeff take him in his arms and hold him from behind. They were both fully clothed, and there was nothing sexual between them, but Jeff had never seen him so vulnerable. This was the moment of truth. He had to hear Blaine’s answers to Finn’s familiar questions.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Blaine Anderson,” he replied softly.

Jeff stroked his hair. It was already starting to come loose from his morning’s application of gel. “Who do you belong to?”

There was a long silence. Finally, Blaine stirred.

“Finn,” he said slowly. “And… Puck. And Kurt.”

Jeff let out a long breath. “That’s right. You do remember.”

But Blaine wasn’t done. “And Bethie.” He sounded mystified. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? How old is she now?”

He felt his heart racing. “Uh… I’m not sure. Maybe six months?”

“I miss her. I miss everyone.” Was that a _chuckle?_   “I miss myself, Jeff.”

“Oh, babe.” He encouraged Blaine to turn over on the bed, letting him rest his cheek against Jeff’s chest. “We all miss you, too.”

Blaine’s eyes were wide open, staring at the wall as he lay there in Jeff’s arms.

“I’m scared to go to bed,” he admitted softly. “Because I don’t know who I’m going to be when I wake up in the morning.”

“I got it,” said Jeff. His throat constricted. “Whatever happens, though, we’re not going to give up on you. All right? Just hang in there as best you can, and we’re going to help you keep being yourself.”

His voice was a bare whisper. “I think I need a spanking.”

“Yeah,” Jeff agreed fervently. “You really do. You going to let me give you one?”

Blaine shook his head against Jeff’s shirt. Jeff sighed.

“It’s okay. Just stay here for another minute, and then… we’ll start on that Latin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally written many years ago by knittycat99, now significantly reworked to fit into our present understanding of Blaine and his situation. A Donutverse reader offered the explanation that Blaine is in a “fugue state,” which turns out to be a pretty good approximation of Blaine’s reality up until now. I am absolutely not a doctor and I freely admit I have been making all this up, but learning more about fugue states and how to address them has led me to new ideas for future chapters. Yay, co-creation of the Donutverse! -amy


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt arrives at Dalton, runs into Blaine, and goes to a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to meet the OCs from this story, there will be pictures and character descriptions of them [on Tumblr](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/donutverse). 
> 
> Modified quoting in this chapter from 2x09 Special Education. Warnings for underage drinking, very gentle D/s, some conversation about disciplinary tools, and singing. 
> 
> -amy

“Well,” Carole said, with a brisk smile, “here we are.”

Kurt took one look at Blaine’s residence hall and burst into tears. His dad twisted around in the front seat of the Navigator and watched Kurt crying with anxious eyes.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” his dad said.

“No,” Kurt and Finn said at the same time. “I’m okay,” Kurt added. He took the handkerchief from Finn and wiped his eyes. “I’m just…”

“You don’t have to explain, baby,” Finn told him. He slid a protective arm around Kurt’s shoulder. “You’re going to give him what he needs. Believe me, he’s ready for this. You should have heard him on the phone.”

They’d all heard at least some of the details regarding Finn’s conversation with Blaine and Jeff, the way Blaine had _asked_ to talk to Finn, and responded when Finn had spoken with him. Kurt nodded, blowing his nose, and put the handkerchief back into his pocket. “I’m not being rational. Let me get out of this car, and I’ll be okay.”

Puck’s Impala pulled into the space beside the Navigator. Sarah and Frances climbed out the back as Puck opened the trunk.

“I don’t think I should go inside,” Puck said, glancing uneasily at the building. “Me or Finn, just to be safe. Mr. Anderson has eyes everywhere. We can unload the cars and bring all your stuff to the loading dock in the back, and then I think we should take off. There’s a service elevator; you can take all your stuff to the third floor.”

“All right,” Kurt said, after Finn nodded agreement.

Standing in the midst of Dalton’s immaculate grounds, Kurt couldn’t help feel his stomach sink. It was already abysmally clear how much he didn’t belong here. What had be been thinking? _Project Jailbreak,_ Dave and Santana had called it. Suddenly the whole thing felt like a horrible, sick game.

He gathered his fortitude and hugged Puck. “Sarah and Frances can go back to Lima with my dad and Carole. And—” He bit his lip, looking up at Finn. “I think maybe you shouldn’t call me this week. I want to focus on why I’m here, first, and I’m not going to be able to do that if I’m thinking about missing you.”

“Whatever you think is best,” said Finn quietly, and squeezed his hand. Puck nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it. “If you change your mind, though, you can call us any time.”

While Finn and Puck stayed outside with the girls, Carole and his dad took Kurt up the stone steps and through the front door of Blaine’s residence hall. _My residence hall,_ Kurt corrected himself. _Just one more part of the game._ He put on a smile for the familiar boy managing the desk.

“I’m Kurt Hummel,” he said, and the boy smiled back.

“Hey, Teague, he’s here,” he called across the room. To Kurt, he said, “I’m Thad. I just need your parents to sign this, and for you to sign the back of this card. It’s your temporary ID until we can get you into the system.” He nodded at the tall, slender boy who approached from the lounge. “This is Teague Hawkins. He’ll be your roommate.”

“Hi,” said Kurt, shaking his hand. “I hope you weren’t set on having a single all year.”

Teague didn’t smile, but his eyes were friendly under dark brows. His brown hair was trimmed into the kind of timeless cut Kurt associated with the very stylish or the very wealthy. Even out of the Dalton uniform, it was hard to tell which category Teague might fit into. “Welcome to Dalton, Kurt.”

Thad handed his dad a large, metal key and an envelope of papers. “Since it’s Thanksgiving weekend, there are no meals, but starting Sunday night you’ll have three meals a day. You can eat here at Lerner Hall, or at Wexner, that’s on the other side of the parking lot. There’s also a coffee place in Buerck, across the courtyard. That’s where the Warblers practice, Thursdays, with extra rehearsals on Sundays to prepare for sectionals.” He looked expectantly at Kurt. “I heard you might be planning to join us.”

“I was hoping,” Kurt said, feeling a little breathless at the prospect.

“Are you in the Warblers?” Carole asked Teague politely.

“No, but I’m a big fan,” Teague said gravely. Kurt wasn’t sure if that was sarcasm or honesty. “Come on, I’ll show you to our room.”

Sarah and Frances trailed behind them on the way up the stairs, but then Frances made a squeaking noise, and Kurt turned around to see her whispering to Sarah.

“That was Blaine,” she hissed, tugging at Kurt’s sleeve.

“You know Blaine?” Teague looked surprised, but he called down the hall, “Hey, Anderson.”

“Um,” Kurt said, feeling a little desperate, but it was too late. Blaine and Jeff turned around and spotted them. Blaine’s eyes got huge.

“Francie!” he squealed, and she ran at him, landing squarely in his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Frances was crying too hard to reply, but Blaine’s gaze moved from Frances to Carole, and his smile slipped. Then he saw Kurt.

“Oh my god, Kurt!” Tugging Frances’ hand, they walked right by Sarah and stopped in front of Kurt. Blaine took in all of them. “You’re—are you—?”

“I enrolled at Dalton,” he said, with a big exhale, and laughed as Blaine made an enthusiastic _yes_ gesture. “Um, these are my—“

“Burt,” Blaine said, holding out his hand. “So good to see you. And Carole! I hear congratulations are in order.”

Burt shook his hand and Carole hugged him, looking mystified. Kurt shook his head behind Blaine’s back, conveying equal confusion, and she shrugged. “Um, thank you, Blaine. We’re glad to see you too.”

“Well, I wish I could say I didn’t have ulterior motives for wanting Kurt here at Dalton,” he said, giving them a knowing smile. When his dad grunted in suspicion, Blaine turned to him. “I know life’s not all about show choir, but I’d much rather have him on the Warblers than as part of our competition. And, of course, this will be so much safer for him.”

“Of course,” Carole said. She turned to Sarah, still standing at the end of the hall near Jeff, but when Sarah immediately shook her head, Carole gave her a quick nod. “Teague was just showing Kurt to his room.”

“Sure, I don’t want to be in the way. Do you think I could steal Francie for a little bit? We have a lot of catching up to do!” Without waiting for a reply, Blaine grasped Frances by the hand and gave them all gracious smiles, backing away. “Kurt, I’m down in 319. Just come find me when you get sick of unpacking. Great to see all of you.”

“See you,” said his dad. Sarah turned her back as Frances and Blaine disappeared down the hallway. His dad frowned, then he gestured at Teague, who had watched the whole exchange with an enigmatic expression. “Lead the way.”

Teague took them around the corner and all the way down the hall, stopped at room 303, and unlocked the door.

“It’s really too small for all of us at once,” he said. “Do you need help bringing your things up from the car?”

“We have some friends helping downstairs,” Kurt said. “But thanks. I think we’re going to drop everything off, then get some dinner.”

“I’ll get out of your way and see you after dinner, then.” Teague shook his dad’s hand, then Carole’s. “It was good to meet you all.”

As soon as Teague had disappeared down the hall, his dad turned to Kurt. “What… was _that?”_

“That was even more weird than I expected,” Kurt said. He sank down into Teague’s desk chair, and as Sarah appeared in the doorway, beckoned her in. She went right to him, letting him hug her. “I’m so sorry, everybody.”

“It’s not your fault, honey.” Carole’s glanced at the hallway. “Poor Blaine. Now I’m even more worried for him. Whatever he’s going through, he clearly thinks he needs to pretend to be someone he’s not.”

“Yeah, that was totally not Blaine,” Sarah said. “I didn’t even _want_ him to remember me. Super creepy.”

“C’mon, Sarah,” said his dad. “We’ll meet Puck and Finn downstairs and bring your things up, Kurt. Meet us by the elevator?”

Alone in Teague’s room, Kurt walked around slowly, touching all the parts of the room he could reach. The two windows looked out on the grounds below. An empty bed, dresser, and desk stood waiting for him. Teague’s half of the room was tidy, but Kurt could see some personal touches that gave some indication who Teague was: a tennis racket and bag by the door, a photo of his smiling parents on the wall by the small refrigerator, a well-tabbed copy of Anna Karenina on his pillow. There was no television or video game console, but Kurt found a bottle of tequila in the back of the fridge. Apparently Teague wasn’t entirely without vices.

Kurt thought about the suede flogger and other tools in his trunk, and wondered briefly what it would take to sneak Finn into the dorm for ten minutes before he left. Then he sighed, brushing his hair off his forehead. _You’re here for Blaine,_ he told himself firmly, and went to help his family.

* * *

Kurt didn’t see Teague again until late that evening, after he had unpacked and found places for most of his things. It startled him to hear someone else’s key in the lock, but he relaxed as Teague’s slim form appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, Kurt.” He closed the door behind him. “Feeling a little more settled?”

“A little.” He closed the drawer he had been organizing and slid his empty luggage into the space between the dresser and his bed. “It’s strange being away from home. I’ve never really spent more than a few days away from my dad before.”

“That was the hardest part of coming to Dalton,” Teague agreed. He rubbed his upper lip. “It’s easy to forget how hard it was then. Especially considering most of us had reasons for coming here that were much more mundane than yours.”

“Yes, well.” He sat on his bed, leaning back on his pile of pillows. “The reason you heard and the reason I’m here are not precisely the same.”

“Is that right?”

“Believe me, I can’t afford to be here, and my parents can’t afford it either. If I didn’t need it, I’d still be in Lima.”

Teague waited for more, obviously curious, but he didn’t press Kurt. When Kurt shrugged, he shrugged too. “So how do you know Blaine?”

“We did a musical together in Cleveland over the summer.” There were so many other things he could have added about exactly _how_ he knew Blaine, many of which were intensely personal, but that was good enough for now.

“He seemed happy to see you, and your parents.”

“I was happy to see him, too.”

Kurt realized, with a start, that he could just stand up and walk around the corner to see Blaine—and that, even though he could have done that at any time in the last several hours, he hadn’t. More than anything else, that was what made him gather his courage and head for the hallway.

He paused outside Blaine’s mostly-closed door, knocking softly.

“Come in,” he heard.

When he pushed the door open, the first person he saw was Jeff, sitting at his desk in front of his computer. Jeff made a shushing gesture, pointing behind him, then beckoned him inside.

Blaine was almost completely obscured in his comforter, wrapped up with his head inside. At first Kurt thought he was asleep, but as he approached Blaine’s bed, Jeff said in a long-suffering tone, “Babe, you have to do _some_ of your project.”

“No I don’t,” Blaine retorted.

Kurt put a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh. Blaine sounded like a pouty little kid. Kurt had never heard him act that way, but it was exactly how Jeff had told them Blaine had been behaving. _Whiny Blaine,_ he called it.

Jeff shrugged, turning back to his computer. Kurt hesitated.

“Can I try?” he whispered.

“Be my guest.” Jeff shot him a sour look over his glasses. “After your surprise appearance today, and the stellar conversation he had with that girl, Francie, I haven’t been able to get him to do anything.”

Kurt crouched down beside the bed. When he put a hand on what he guessed was Blaine’s back, he came up with a foot. Blaine seemed to be huddled into a tiny ball.

“Sweetheart,” he said. Then, a little louder, “Blaine, it’s me. Kurt.”

“Go away.” Blaine gave a little push with his knee. Then, slowly, he unwrapped himself from his comforter, his tousled hair framing red and watery eyes, and blinked up at him. “Kurt?”

“That’s right.” He reached out and brushed aside Blaine’s hair from his face. When he smiled, Blaine sat up, looking confused.

“What are you doing here? It’s—it’s not Sunday. Is it?”

Kurt felt a pang at the thought that they might not be returning to the Lima Bean for weekly Sunday night study sessions anytime soon, now that he was living in Westerville. Blaine had called it _their place,_ whatever that was worth, considering Blaine didn’t seem to remember most of what had happened between him and Kurt and Puck over the summer.

“No, I transferred to Dalton. I live down the hall in Teague’s room. 303.” He watched Blaine’s expression shift from confused to wary. “It’s okay,” he soothed, handing Blaine his handkerchief.

Blaine stared at the folded square of cloth. “Finn said his boyfriend uses these.”

“What?” Kurt gasped. He turned toward Jeff in excitement, but Jeff just shook his head.

“He does that all the time. He’ll forget he even said anything about it in another minute. Don’t read too much into it.”

Kurt buried his disappointment and sat back on his heels, trying to figure out what to do next. “Would you like a drink of water?”

Blaine looked from him to the handkerchief to Jeff. Then his face crumpled into an angry frown. He threw the blanket back over his head. “Just leave me alone!” he shouted.

“Blaine,” Jeff said sternly. “You don’t talk to Kurt that way.”

Before Kurt could say anything else, Blaine started crying. It was impossible to _not_ do something about that. Kurt sat beside him on the bed, then pulled the blanket back, carefully extracting Blaine from its shelter. Blaine let Kurt haul him into his lap, cuddling his head onto his chest.

“Hey, shhh… come on.” Kurt kissed his forehead, stroking his hair. “It’s okay. I understand. You’re upset, you say things you don’t mean.”

“It’s not fair,” Blaine whined, but he clutched at Kurt’s sleeve, and he didn’t push him away.

“What’s not fair?”

When Blaine didn’t answer, Jeff supplied, “He wants things his dad says he can’t have.”

“He doesn’t understand,” said Blaine through gritted teeth. “I hate him. _Hate_ him.”

Kurt thought about the conversation Finn told him about, the one where Blaine had remembered. “But he’s not in charge of you,” he said. “Right? Your dad’s not the one in charge. It’s Finn.”

Blaine opened his eyes and looked around in alarm. “Finn? He can’t be here.” He tried to scramble out of Kurt’s arms, but Kurt held him fast, as best as he could. Blaine was strong, but eventually he gave up fighting, breathing hard.

“Finn’s not here,” Kurt said, rubbing his back. “But I am. Finn told you to listen to me.”

“Finn,” Blaine said. He seemed to be listening. Now Jeff was watching them.

“You’re letting Kurt get close to you,” Jeff said. “Just like Finn told you to.”

“That’s right,” Kurt agreed. He stroked Blaine’s hair. “You’re being such a good boy, letting me hold you.”

Blaine snuck his arms out from their huddle and wound them around Kurt’s waist, clutching him fiercely. Kurt hugged him back. The way Blaine’s heart was racing, it reminded him of Puck, how he would get so worked up when he was resisting submission.

“You need a spanking,” Kurt said softly.

Blaine shook his head hard. “That’s not okay.” His voice was deeper, angrier. Kurt wondered if that was the way his dad sounded in his head. He cast around for other calming activities.

“Can I sing to you?”

Blaine sniffed. After a minute of silence, he said, “Something we sang last year?”

“Yes,” Kurt whispered, around the lump in his throat. “That’s a good idea.”

“How about the Beatles?”

Kurt nodded, kissing his head again. With a shaky voice that grew stronger, Kurt sang:

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
_ _Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
_ _All your life  
_ _You were only waiting for this moment to arise…_

With each line, Blaine relaxed a little bit more. He didn’t look at Kurt, but his entire being was intensely focused on the sound. Kurt could feel him breathing more easily.

When it was over, Blaine sat up, staring at his hands in his lap. He glanced over at Kurt, looking almost embarrassed.

“I should probably get ready for bed,” he said. Then he stood up and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Jeff sighed, shaking his head. “Singing. That’s one I never tried.”

Kurt breathed deeply, trying to calm his own racing pulse. “We—Finn and Noah and I, and Blaine, we sang that last summer, at our house.”

“Well, I’d stick with that, because it definitely made an impact.” He gestured at the bathroom. “I think I can take it from here. Unless you want to head into the shower with him.” At Kurt’s splutter, he grinned. “Trust me, he wouldn’t care. He’s oblivious to anything sexual these days. Probably part of his dad’s rules.”

“I—I’ll pass,” Kurt said, his voice coming out high and tight. “I think I’ll go to bed, myself.”

“Thanks, Kurt.” Jeff looked genuinely grateful. “For coming here. I know it won’t be easy for you to be away from your family.”

“Blaine’s my family, too,” he said, listening to the words as he said them. They felt like the truth. “I’m not going to give up on him.”

That night, Kurt woke several times, hyper-aware of the strange sounds and smells of Dalton at night. He cried a little, too, but he thought of Blaine, alone in his bed. He told himself, _if Blaine can do this, you can, too,_ and made himself close his eyes and wait for sleep.

* * *

Kurt bundled up in his parka and gloves before leaving Warblers practice. It wasn’t a long walk from Buerk to Lerner Hall, but the snow was coming down harder, and it was already getting dark. He plugged his headphones into his phone and placed a call to Rachel without much hope of reaching her in the middle of the school day, but she answered.

“Hey, Rachel! I’ve been hoping to talk to you.”

He could hear an echo behind her voice, like she was in the gym or some other large room. _“Hi, Kurt. Don’t bother trying to get information out of me about what we’re singing at Sectionals. We haven’t even chosen our songs yet. Oh, and Lauren Zizes is in Glee now, which is seriously making me rethink this whole ‘Glee is for everyone’ concept.”_

“I wouldn’t underestimate her,” he said, grinning to himself. It made him unreasonably happy to hear Rachel’s voice. There was no reason Rachel couldn’t be told that Lauren wasn’t just in Glee to fill in their twelfth spot. Rachel might not quite understand how _discipline_ fit into the boundaries of a consensual relationship, but she had promised to remain open-minded about Finn doing that with Kurt and Puck. It stood to reason she would probably understand if Kurt told her Lauren had taken over handling Puck—but that was Lauren’s business to tell, not his. “What are you up to?”

_“Rehearsing in the auditorium before fourth period. I had some ideas for breakout ballads and showstoppers I wanted to share with Mr. Schue. Only it seems the only solos I’m getting for Sectionals are in my mind.”_

“Actually, I was hoping you could help me with that. I’ve been invited to audition for a solo.”

She sounded grumpy. _“Why should I help you? I mean, you’re our competition now.”_

“Because I’m never going to get this solo anyway. Jeff’s been up for consideration six times already. I just want to use the opportunity to try to get Blaine out of his doldrums. So far the only songs he’s responding to are Beatles tunes. I tried Celine Dion’s classic My Heart Will Go On and he all but growled at me.” He brushed snow out of his face, chafing his gloves together as he waited at the crosswalk for the light to change. “And no one knows how to kill a ballad quite like you. You are as brilliant and talented as you are irritating.”

She sighed. _“Considering that this might be my only chance to sing for a little while, I’ll give you a couple tips. Listen, you need something much more personal than Celine Dion. I mean, this is about you and Blaine.”_

He thought about all the songs he and Blaine had ever sung together. “We always sang show tunes when we drove back from Lima to Westerville, when he would come visit our house. Mostly contemporary musicals. Phantom, Les Mis, Evita…”

_“Oh, how about Don’t Cry For Me Argentina?”_

Kurt laughed. “That would certainly set the Warblers Council on edge. They think anything that’s not already set in eight-part harmony is daring.” He trudged up the steps to Lerner Hall. “I miss you guys already.”

_“We miss you, too, Kurt.”_

“I think you’re the only one I can ask to do this at the moment, so… would you give Finn a kiss from me?”

There was a pause, and then Rachel laughed unhappily. _“I think if you knew what was going on with me and Finn, you wouldn’t be asking me to do that.”_

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not _your_ competition, Rach? Just tell him I love him and I’ll call him tonight.”

Back in his room, Kurt found Teague struggling out of his sweaty tennis gear. Kurt averted his eyes. “Oh—sorry, I can wait outside.”

“Only if you’re offended by a little nudity,” Teague said, grinning. It might have been the first smile Kurt had seen from him. He smiled back.

“No, nudity doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m a lot more open-minded than I was last year.”

Teague nodded, hanging his tennis shorts and shirt from a wire rack on the back of his closet. “What changed?”

“I met my first boyfriend.” _And my second, and my third, and my fourth._ Kurt sat on the edge of his bed to remove his boots, trying not to think too hard about those memories. When he turned back, he realized Teague was watching him with sympathy.

“You miss him.”

“A lot,” Kurt agreed. “But I told him not to call this week, to give me a chance to adjust. And he’s not allowed to visit Dalton right now. Family conflicts.”

“That’s a shame. It’s hard enough trying to adjust to being here, let alone without someone to lean on.”

Kurt cleared his throat. “How about you? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“I’ve had both,” said Teague. “But no one at the moment. I didn’t want to finish senior year encumbered. Next year I’ll be at Penn, for business.” He picked up his towel. “David’s throwing a party Friday night in the second floor common room, if you need an activity to take your mind off things.”

“I’m… not really one for partying,” Kurt said, but Teague just shrugged.

“Lots of ways to enjoy a party, man. Think about it.”

While Teague was safely in the shower, Kurt called Adam.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked, listening to the bustling noise in the background.

 _“Hey, I can find a quiet place to talk to you.”_ Adam sounded pleased, and Kurt relaxed, leaning against his pile of pillows. _“I could definitely get used to you being available in the middle of the day.”_

“Yes, well, finding time to speak to you alone is going to be more of a challenge, now that I have a roommate. Teague is in the shower.”

_“What kind of a name is that, anyway? Teague. Sounds like something you’d eat with crumpets.”_

“Don’t judge. Dalton is steeped in Ivy League kids. It’s like a different world from Lima. But he’s nice, so far.”

_“How about Blaine? How’d he respond to you singing Celine?”_

“Apparently she is not Whiny Blaine’s favorite.” Kurt sighed. If he looked out the window, he could just see the corner of Blaine’s room. “I’ll keep trying. He was willing to do his homework last night, at least.”

_“Noah and I spoke at length about Lauren.”_

He felt a pang of homesickness, hearing the word _Noah._ “Whatever you think of her personally, she’s more able to give him what he needs than anyone else right now.”

_“No, no, I wasn’t sure about her at first, but hearing him talking about what they’ve been doing together, and him so clear and calm, I think I may be a convert. He clearly worships her. She apparently agreed to replace you at your Glee club’s competition.”_

“Considering Glee is one of the few places where he gets to be himself at school, it might be good for him to have her around.” He heard Teague turn off the water. “I’m sorry we’re wasting all our time together talking about other people. How many more performances do you have before you come home?”

_“Four, all in the UK, all sold out. Everybody’s exhausted, but Angela’s been a complete doll. I really couldn’t have done this tour without her. She agreed to join us again in February for the next leg, at least until Jacob’s finished at the FBI academy.”_

“Did you… get Tess’s invitation to the wedding reception at Tessera?” Kurt held his breath.

_“I did. Honey, it would be so great to see all of you. We’re doing everything we can to figure out the schedule for December. As soon as I know the answer, I’ll let you know, okay?”_

“Okay. Thank you.” He dropped his voice as Teague emerged from the bathroom, clad in his towel. “I love you so much.”

_“It is so mutual, Kurt. Good luck with Blaine.”_

Teague gave him a knowing smile as he tucked his phone away. “Your boyfriend?”

“Sort of,” Kurt said. “I mean… yes. It’s complicated. He’s abroad.”

“Oh, a long distance relationship?” Teague nodded. “Props. That’s not easy.”

“Better than not having it, though.”

“Maybe.” Teague rubbed his top lip, a habitual gesture Kurt recognized by now. “Sometimes it’s easier to rely on yourself than having others let you down.”

“Easier doesn’t mean better, though,” Kurt pointed out. “Finding a connection, that’s worth a risk.”

Teague didn’t respond to that, but Kurt didn’t feel rebuffed. He was coming to like this quiet, thoughtful boy.

“You know, maybe I will come to that party after all,” Kurt said.

Teague nodded. “I’m sure you can figure out a way to have a good time.”

* * *

Kurt stood by the wall, watching the other Dalton boys mingle and flirt with one another as the loud music flooded through the second floor common room. Blaine was the most outrageous of everyone, moving from group to group, draping himself over other boys’ arms and laughing and letting them play with his hair.

“Hey, Kurt.” He looked over to see Nick smiling and holding out a drink.

“Thanks, but no.” Kurt shook his head at the glass. “I don’t really drink.”

“Relax, this is just punch. You can add whatever you want to it, or nothing.” He held it out again, and Kurt took a sip. It did appear to just be punch. “It’s so funny to have you here at Dalton. I remember dancing with you at Masque last year. You had some sick moves.”

“Oh!” Kurt laughed, with a flash of memory. _Our date night. The night Noah met Blaine_. “I forgot you were there. That, um, seems like such a long time ago.”

“You sounded good today at auditions. That song was a bold choice.”

“Maybe a little too bold. Blaine told me not to try so hard.” Kurt shrugged. “I’ve never been very good at fitting in.”

“If you ask me, the Warblers could use a little out-of-the-box thinking. Blaine’s one of those guys who thinks tradition and responsibility is everything.” Nick gazed at him through his eyelashes. “I think there are plenty of other things that matter.”

“Kurt,” Blaine called, “Nick, c’mon, we’re going to play I Never.”

“What’s that?” Kurt asked.

Nick laughed, taking his elbow and steering him over to the circle of comfortable chairs in the corner. “This is where you get to decide if you want to add something to your drink or not.”

Kurt recognized several of the boys in the circle from the Warblers. Wes was apparently their supplier of great cookies and other things. There was a boy named Trent who Kurt thought might have been at Masque as well, but he didn’t look so friendly. Thad from the front desk was there, sitting beside Teague, and Jeff and Blaine, and a few boys he’d not yet met.

“David’s getting some more tequila,” said Wes. He passed the bottle to Kurt, who hesitated before adding a little to his cup. Blaine gave him a thumbs-up gesture from across the circle, his eyes laughing.

“Kurt, we’re here to get to know you,” said Thad, holding up his own cup in a toast. “This is the quickest way. We’ll take turns saying something we’ve never done. If you’ve done that thing, you take a sip of your drink. Then it’s someone else’s turn to name something they’ve never done. You want to go first?”

He laughed nervously. “Sounds like it could be dangerous.”

“Hey, you’re a Dalton boy now,” Nick said, patting him on the back. “We take care of each other. No judgment. Right, guys?”

There were many nods, and not even one of them looked unkind. Kurt took a deep breath.

“Well,” he said. “I’ve never been to Europe.”

There were many groans as most of the boys took a drink. “Not even _Mallorca?”_ murmured Trent, but Wes shushed him and he subsided.

“I’ve never been on a vacation without my family,” said a blonde boy with an anxious smile.

“But you’ve _been_ everywhere, Ingram,” said the boy beside him. He nodded at Kurt, who was taking a drink. “I’m Ellison. Where did you go, Kurt?”

“Los Angeles,” Kurt said. “To, um. To sing with Lady Gaga, at her house.”

The room fell silent and everyone gaped at him, but Blaine collapsed into a fit of giggling.

“He _did,”_ Blaine confirmed. “He knows someone who does sound engineering for her.”

“Well, fuck,” Ellison said with a broad smile. “That beats everything tonight, I’ll bet.”

“Stick around,” Kurt said, his face burning.

He glanced at Jeff, who slid an arm around Blaine, giving him a little steady pressure, and Blaine settled down. Kurt realize, if Blaine’s memory was going to be that unreliable, this kind of game might prove to be informative.

“I’ve never won a tournament,” said Wes. “Though I’ve come close.”

Teague took a drink. “Tennis?” Kurt guessed, and Teague nodded.

“Penn doesn’t give athletic scholarships,” he said, “but I suppose it looked good on my application. And I enjoy the competition.”

“I’ve never read a Stephen King novel,” said Trent, with a shiver. Kurt watched most of the others drink as Wes and Ellison embarked on a brief discussion of whether the new Gunslinger comic was as good as the original novel.

“I’ve never taken psilocybin,” said a boy at the end with bushy brown hair. He pushed his black-framed glasses up his nose. “Mushrooms,” he clarified, and several of them drank, including Blaine.

“I have a feeling those aren’t the kind of mushrooms you cook with,” Kurt said. The boy gave him an amused look.

“Not if you want them to do what they’re supposed to,” Jeff said. “Well, okay, Merritt, if you _haven’t_ done that, how about… oh, I’ve never had a piercing.”

The boy in the glasses, Merritt, toasted Jeff before draining his glass. His ears were devoid of any holes Kurt could see. David passed the new bottle of tequila around.

“I’ve never had a tattoo,” said Wes. Kurt waited until he was sure he wouldn’t be the only one before finishing off his own drink. Nick’s eyes gleamed as he poured him more punch.

“You’ll have to show me later,” he whispered in Kurt’s ear.

“Leave him alone, Nick,” said Teague. “He has a boyfriend.”

The only one who looked at all surprised to hear this was Blaine, but his expression smoothed out quickly, and he volunteered, “I’ve never had a boyfriend!”

Jeff, Teague, Thad, and Nick all drank. “I haven’t yet, anyway,” added Ellison.

“I’ve never _wanted_ to have a boyfriend,” Ingram said sheepishly. Now more of them drank, though Merritt and David did not. Kurt added another splash of tequila to his new cup of punch before drinking.

“It’s really not a big deal here to be gay?” Kurt asked. Everyone shook their heads.

“Or whatever,” said Teague. “You don’t have to know what labels to use yet. However you identify, it’s okay.”

“I’ve never done anything with a guy,” said Thad, “but I always figured I would, someday.”

“What, so do we drink with the first one or the second one?” Ingram asked Ellison in confusion. He encouraged Ingram to drink regardless. Most of the rest of them were drinking, too.

“Playing this game with gay friends means I end up drinking less,” David said, grinning. “I’ve… oh, I’ve never rebuilt a car.”

Blaine and Kurt both drank, while the rest of the room made impressed noises. “My dad’s a mechanic,” Kurt said. “I’ve worked on several rebuilds, and lots of customs.”

“That’s hot,” said Nick, indicating Kurt. “I’m sorry, it just is. Okay, well, I’ve never done anything with a girl, then.”

Most of the boys drank, including Jeff. He gave Trent a dirty look. “Go ahead. You always ask this one. Get it over with.”

 _“I’ve_ never dated two people _together,”_ Trent said.

Nobody looked surprised to see Jeff drink, but when Kurt did, too, Trent frowned.

“I’m not talking about just dating around,” he said, “I mean three people, all of—“

“He knows what you mean,” Blaine said softly. He was gazing at Kurt. “Right, Kurt?”

“Four, even,” Kurt said, his mouth dry. “For a little while.”

David gave him a whistle. “Jeff, you might have some competition here.”

“It’s not a competition,” Jeff said. To Kurt, he added, “You can stop playing any time. Got it?”

“I know,” Kurt said. “It’s okay.”

It was, though his face was flushed and he was feeling a little dizzy from the way Blaine was staring at him, or maybe it was the tequila. He leaned back in his chair against Nick, who put an arm around his shoulder.

“I’ve never eaten oysters,” said Wes.

Kurt watched everyone else take a drink. “That’s… not a euphemism for something else, is it?”

They all laughed. Ingram looked mystified. He turned to Ellison. “What would it even _be_ a—“

“I’ve never made a pie,” Teague said. Several of them snickered, but Kurt and Ellison were the only ones to drink. “And that’s not a euphemism either.”

The game continued for some time, with most of the content remaining PG, to Kurt’s relief. He did end up drinking when Thad asked if anyone had had phone sex, but as nearly all of the rest of them drank too, he didn’t feel so embarrassed.

Nick put his hand on Kurt’s shoulder, giving him a little squeeze. “Mmmm. You feeling tense?”

“Hey, Kurt,” said Teague, rising from his chair. “Can you give me a hand with something in our room?

“Sure.” He had to make an effort to stand, moving as steadily as he could under the circumstances, and, with a wave at a crestfallen Nick, followed Teague toward the stairwell.

“I thought you might need a cockblock,” said Teague, with a little apologetic smile. He rubbed his upper lip. “Nick can be persistent.”

“And you would know?” Kurt asked, then wondered if he should have.

“Yeah, but he’s harmless. He’s not a stalker, and when he’s sober, he’s a good friend. I’m not saying you can’t take him up on his offer, either.” He shrugged. “No judgment.”

“No, I think casual sex isn’t in my vocabulary,” Kurt said. “My tastes are a little too unusual for that to work.”

He marveled at his own lack of filter. Teague held open the door for him.

“There’s not actually anything back in our room that I needed you to do,” he said. “But I’m not going to bed any time soon, if you want to keep talking. You surprised all of us out there tonight.”

“Believe me, that was the tip of a very kinky iceberg.” He rolled his eyes as Teague laughed. “God, it appears that I’m just going to keep _saying_ things. So if you don’t mind that…”

Teague pulled his desk chair out, then reached into the refrigerator for the tequila and a bottle of orange juice. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Kurt sank down onto his bed, watching Teague pour two drinks. “Can I trust that you won’t tell anybody what we talk about? I can’t really be held responsible for being careful for what I say when I’m under the influence of—that.”

“Scout’s honor,” Teague said. “I’m a good secret-keeper. Does it have something to do with Blaine? Because the two of you were giving each other eyes all night.”

“It does,” said Kurt. He accepted the drink Teague offered him. “He’s had a rough year, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I think we’ve all noticed, but we mostly haven’t said anything.”

“My, um. My boyfriends. Finn, and Noah. The ones at home, not the one abroad.” He made vague gestures toward Lima and Europe. “We were involved. With Blaine.” He paused, holding in the sob that threatened to overwhelm him. “But his dad found out and told him he can’t see either of them anymore. He’s been monitoring Blaine’s every move. Luckily his dad didn’t know about me.”

“But his dad’s _gay,”_ Teague said, looking perplexed. “I remember very clearly finding out Darren Anderson was gay. It was the biggest gossip among Columbus socialites for months.”

“No, it wasn’t that, he… he didn’t like the other stuff we do. Ropes, and paddles, and handcuffs.”

“Oh, my,” Teague supplied, and Kurt broke out laughing. “I can see how that might have upset him?”

“I think he was afraid Blaine was going to get found out, and that it would affect his standing in the business community. Which, to be honest, is entirely possible. Blaine’s terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Except this one,” Teague pointed out. “I had no idea.”

Kurt took a long sip of his drink, which was definitely stronger than the ones in the common room had been. “We’re never sure when Blaine is pretending not to know things and when he has legitimately blocked it out. Anyway. It’s been a challenge to know how to help him from a distance. I’m here to do what I can.”

Teague looked more than curious now. “So you and Blaine. You… tie him up? Paddle him? Put him in handcuffs?”

“All of that, yes, and more. And I have lovers who do that for me. Although it doesn’t have to be sexual.”

“Excuse me?” Teague choked on his drink. “What exactly would it be if it _weren’t_ sexual?”

“It could be a lot of things, actually.” Kurt had to smile at himself, explaining all of this to a prep school senior, bound for Ivy League business school. “We have a friend who offers discipline as a service. It’s his business. Most people don’t do it for money, though. My boyfriends and I do it because it gives us what we need. For Noah, it provides him with structure, when he’s out of control and he isn’t making good choices. For Finn, it’s about surrender, giving up control to someone he trusts.”

Teague nodded slowly. “And for you?”

“For me, it’s a sense of… release. It’s very cathartic. I have trouble with too much sensory input. The physical experience gives me a connection to my body, when I’m feeling scattered and anxious, and the psychological experience helps me let go of the things I can’t handle on my own.”

He tilted his head, looking a little hungry. “Damn, Kurt. _You_ should go into business.”

“What?”

“You know how many boys at Dalton need—well, _all_ of those things you just named?” He shook his head in amazement. “Most of us end up leaning on caffeine or harder stuff to get through four years of prep school. If you were able to provide that naturally, I guarantee you would have guys lined up at your door, financing your education.”

Kurt laughed. “Excuse me? Didn’t you just hear me tell you that Mr. Anderson freaked out when he found out we were doing that with Blaine? Imagine how much trouble I’d be in if I ended up doing it for anybody else.”

“I think you overestimate the involvement of most of the parents at this school,” said Teague. “Seriously, none of them would ever find out.” He finished off his drink and set the cup down, leaning forward with excitement. “Kurt, I’m not kidding. I mean, what you just told me… _I_ need that stuff.”

“You?” Kurt stared at him.

“Yeah. Kind of a lot.” He touched his chest. “You should try it with me.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not? I’ll tell you if you’re ready for prime time or not.” He beckoned Kurt with both hands.

“You want me to tie you up and spank you.”

Teague paused, watching Kurt. “Unless that’s not something you could do for other people? Without it being sexual?” He interlaced his fingers. “Honestly, I’m thinking it sounds pretty hot, but I can respect boundaries if you’re not interested in that.”

“I don’t know.” He blinked a few times, considering Teague before him. “I mean—no, I’m not interested in being sexual with you, or anybody else, but… I don’t know if I _could_ do it for someone else without it being sexual. And I’m way too drunk to think about doing _anything_ tonight.”

“Fair enough,” said Teague. “We can just talk. Do you really have a paddle?”

Kurt’s tequila-influence boundaries were murky enough that he ended up getting out all of the tools he’d brought with him, including Noah’s paddle, the suede flogger from Dr. Howell’s desk, the plain functional collar Adam had originally purchased for Noah, and their pair of padded leather cuffs. He laid them out on the bed one at a time as he explained their use. Teague was a thoughtful listener, asking questions but not demanding answers.

At the bottom of Finn’s father’s trunk was Blaine’s collar. Kurt hesitated bringing it out, but decided he’d better be clear with Teague.

“This is more than a tool,” Kurt said, making eye contact with him and holding it. Teague, kneeling on the floor beside his bed, nodded solemnly. “This belongs to one person. It symbolizes a commitment we made to Blaine, from me and Finn and Noah, to take care of him, to give him whatever he needed to be whole.”

“I understand,” Teague said. He looked at the bed, touching the tails of the suede flogger with the tips of his fingers. “I can tell it’s a big deal for you.”

“It is.” Watching him, Kurt felt a surprising rush of anxiety at the idea of using these tools, _any_ of them, on someone else. _They’re for us,_ he thought, _and no one else._ He gathered them up and tucked them back into the trunk. “I think, if I were going to do this for you, or anyone else, I would need to get some other implements.”

The hopeful smile that spread across Teague’s face was really very lovely. Kurt smiled back at him.

“You think you might be able to try this with me?” Teague asked. It wasn’t said in a flirty way, or with any kind of shyness or reticence. He was very plainly asking for it. Kurt found himself nodding.

“I think so,” he added. “If you want me to. And you don’t really need tools to try it out. We didn’t use tools for a long time. I spanked Noah with my hand. But I’m not very strong, and that kind of impact only goes so far.”

“Can I propose a deal?” Teague asked. “An investment, you might say. I can finance a purchase of some initial tools for you to use on me. Whatever you think is needed. Believe me, it’s no hardship, and…” He laughed, and now he did look a little embarrassed. “I’m motivated.”

“I can tell,” said Kurt. Even in his inebriated state, he was thinking it through. _A contract, like we had. Dr. Howell might be willing to help prepare it. Lauren would know a source for tools. I could talk with Irene tomorrow at the open mic, too._ He could feel the energy rushing through him, too long dormant, at the prospect of taking this boy down. “Let’s talk more tomorrow, but… I’m motivated, too.”

He held out a hand, and without hesitation, Teague shook it. His eyes were sparkling.

“This is the most interesting thing to happen around here all year,” he admitted. “It’s past one in the morning, and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to sleep.”

“Yes, you are,” said Kurt. He focused his gaze on Teague, and felt Teague’s grip loosen and relax as his smile faltered. When Kurt finally smiled back, he didn’t let Teague’s eyes go. “Here’s what you’ll do. You’ll go into the bathroom and get ready for bed, the way you usually do. Put on your pajamas and get into bed, and turn out the light. I’m going to go check on Blaine. When I come back, if you’re not asleep, I’ll help you fall asleep. In a way that doesn’t involve any impact. All right?”

“Yeah, all right.” Teague looked a little stunned, but he hadn’t hesitated to respond. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Damn, Kurt. You weren’t kidding.”

“Definitely not,” Kurt said severely. “And I’m not kidding now. Move.”

It was so gratifying to watch Teague scramble for the bathroom that Kurt just sat there for a good long while, letting himself soak it in. It was the feeling of power. He knew firsthand just how easily that could be misused. If he was going to do this— _was_ he going to do this?—he was going to need to remember every moment why he was doing it, and for whom.


	3. Teague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and his roommate begin negotiations regarding permissible activities in their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's Teague](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/185327990939/kurts-boys-at-dalton-teague). Warnings for consensual sexual D/s negotiation, masturbation, orgasm denial, and spanking. Neither Kurt’s nor Teague’s boundaries are great here.  
> -amy

Kurt woke early to an awful headache and a dry mouth. It wasn’t anything like the hangover he’d experienced after the incident with April Rhodes’ chablis, but he could tell he’d neglected to drink enough water before going to bed. As quietly as he could, he rose to use the bathroom and find a few ibuprofen. As an afterthought, he poured a glass of water for Teague and brought him some capsules, too.

Teague stirred as Kurt approached his bed, crouching down beside his pillow.

“I’m awake,” he murmured, blinking.

“I thought you could use a little hangover relief,” Kurt said.

Teague smiled sleepily. “That’s really sweet, Kurt. My head’s fine, but I wouldn’t mind some of that water.”

Kurt waited beside him while Teague drank the whole thing, then set the glass aside. “I’m going to try to get some more sleep.”

“Wait…” Teague’s hand emerged from below the blanket, touching Kurt’s bare arm. “I meant to bring this up last night, but somehow our conversation went in… other directions.”

In the sober light of dawn, the content of that conversation seemed a lot more embarrassing. “My recollection is that you asked me to tie you up and spank you.”

“In a sentence, yes.” Teague’s gaze flickered away. “You might also recall I said that was… kind of a turn-on.”

“I tried to be clear, I’m not looking for a hookup.” Kurt drew back, but Teague held onto his arm.

“No, I didn’t mean that. I respect your boundaries. But that doesn’t change the understanding that sometimes people get turned on. And, there is an expectation at a gentleman’s school like this one that roommates will establish certain… customs around dealing with arousal.”

“What kind of customs?” Kurt asked warily.

“That is entirely up to the roommates. But my experience in three years at Dalton has been that whatever happens while alone under one’s own covers might go, say, unremarked upon by the other roommate.”

Kurt tilted his head. “You’re asking for permission to masturbate in your bed?”

“That, yes,” said Teague. “And, should you happen to hear me doing it, that you don’t make note of it.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“And of course, I would grant the same to you.”

“Of course,” echoed Kurt. He had to smile at Teague’s formal speech, so much like Blaine’s. “Thank you for taking the time to… establish the norms.”

“I’m glad it won’t be a problem for you. I would appreciate an opportunity to check in at some point and see if we want to make any adjustments to that agreement.”

 _Adjustments._ Kurt had to wonder what Teague thought those might entail, but he didn’t say anything more about it. He just nodded. Then he went back to bed, wrapped himself in his comforter, which still smelled like Finn and Noah, and closed his eyes.

It was hard not to listen, though, after that conversation they’d just had. Kurt had to question every little squeak of the furniture, every hitch in Teague’s breathing. Then he wondered if Teague was listening to _him_ and wondering the same thing. He held his breath for about five seconds before exhaling in annoyance.

“I’m really not used to don’t ask, don’t tell,” he said aloud.

“Uh—“ Teague sat up a little. “Can you clarify that?”

“I mean I’m used to sleeping in a room with my two boyfriends, and to being involved, or at least being asked to appreciate, whenever there’s masturbation going on.”

“Ah. Well… I’m not exactly how to reconcile that with your desire not to be sexual with me.”

“Neither am I,” said Kurt. He frowned, fluffing his pillow. “I’m also used to either being in charge, or someone else being in charge, of most everything that happens. Meaning I haven’t done a lot of negotiation in the past year.”

There was a long silence. Kurt put his head back down, closing his eyes.

“Are you saying…” Teague said, then paused. “Would it be easier if you were… in charge of that, for me?”

Kurt abandoned sleep and sat up straight. “Excuse me?”

“Only to simplify things.”

To Kurt, it sounded _more_ complicated, not less, but he wasn’t really equipped to argue about it at six-thirty in the morning. “Are you—you’re telling me that you want me to—?”

The silence stretched between them, leaving little doubt as to Teague’s answer. Kurt furrowed his brow.

“And precisely how much control are you willing to give up here?”

“I’m not sure,” Teague said. His voice sounded a little strained. “But perhaps that could be a… a disciplinary matter, for me.”

“Trust me when I say I have no interest in keeping track of whether you have or have not.”

“I would be honest and forthcoming.”

“All right,” said Kurt. “Tell me now, then.”

Teague caught his breath. “I—I haven’t. But I could, at any moment.”

“You could what?”

“I could—finish. Rather quickly.”

Kurt felt unreasonably annoyed by this. “You’re telling me you’ve been touching yourself this whole time?”

“No, no, just—the conversation. It’s been, uh, stimulating.”

He paused, listening to Teague’s uneven breathing. “So would you like to ask? Or would you rather wait until I grant you permission?”

“Would you—tell me when?”

Kurt swallowed the rest of his questions. He waited for another long slow count of ten, then said, as clearly as he could, “All right. You may.”

This time, there was no question as to what was happening, from Teague’s first flurry of movement to the last gasp and muffled groan. Kurt lay on his back, feeling his own sudden arousal with prickling awareness.

Teague let out a long sigh. “Thank you.”

Kurt moistened dry lips. “Yes. That’s… that’s fine.”

There was silence for a while after that. Kurt had plenty of time to consider what to do next. The fact was, Teague had established the norms, and he, Kurt, had chosen to break them. He might as well continue to do so until things were set up to his own satisfaction.

“Teague?” he asked softly. “Are you still awake?”

“Mmmm. Yeah, I’m awake.”

“I’m just thinking this through. Bear with me. I’m not your lover. But it seems I do things that turn you on. Perhaps there will be conversations we have, or actions I take on your behalf, that do that for you. Or simply being around one another.”

Teague sounded a lot more relaxed now. “Based on how things have gone the last several days, I would anticipate that to be the case, yes.”

“Or, perhaps, things I do to myself, in my own bed.”

“I—well, I suppose.” Now Teague sounded uncertain. “I wouldn’t…”

“Or you can imagine I might have conversations with others that could be stimulating to you.”

Teague made a very small noise. “If you chose to have those with me around, potentially, yes.”

“I think I might. I might happen to do that.” He ran his hands down his chest to his hips, then along his thighs, feeling the muscles of his stomach tighten. “Because I’m accustomed to being in charge of my own space, and what I can do in it. I’m used to talking about or doing whatever kinky things I want to.”

The noise Teague made this time was less subtle. “I see. Kurt…”

“Shhh,” Kurt said. “Just be a good boy and listen. I’m willing to set limits for you. That’s a feature of having someone in charge of you. You don’t seem like the kind of boy who has trouble managing his own responsibilities, so choosing something else, something more finite, for me to handle on your behalf… that gives you a chance to let go. To put yourself into someone else’s hands. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, “yes, that’s—that’s good.”

“All right.” Kurt’s whole body was tingling now, from his scalp to the base of his cock, with the outrageous thrill of being in charge of another person. Teague’s stuttering responses were delicious, feeding his own arousal. He let his fingers trail wetness down the underside of his cock. “But you are going to have to know that there will be times you want something, and I’m not going to be there to notice. You’re going to have to come find me, or call, or text. You _have_ to ask. Do you understand?”

Teague didn’t answer right away. Kurt’s hands paused.

“Teague.”

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

“You can,” Kurt said. “You have to _trust me.”_

There was another quiet sound, and this one was more like a curse. “Kurt… I barely know you.”

“No, that’s true. But you asked for this, from me. And I told you, I take it seriously. I’m going to take care of you, until you tell me you don’t want it anymore.” _At which point we’d need to find you a new roommate,_ he thought ruefully. There was another extended, strained silence.

“I don’t really depend on other people.”

“I noticed that. I understand how that is. And I’m telling you now, you _will_ depend on me. For this, and for other things.”

“Okay,” Teague said. It was soft, but Kurt heard it. He smiled.

“Okay. Now, I’m going to take you up on that gentleman’s agreement right now. I don’t need you to pretend it’s not happening. I don’t care if you listen, but… keep in mind, if this is to be our agreement, you are not to touch yourself. And if you get close, I want you to tell me.”

“I don’t think—yes. Okay.” He sounded so confused.

Kurt exhaled as his hands continued their motions on his body, reveling in Teague’s willingness to accept his lead, to give in to his direction, even when it seemed ridiculous.

“That’s very good. You’re doing so well.”

“I—I am?” Now Teague’s confusion was mixed with hope.

“You really are,” Kurt promised. “You’re a natural. I can’t tell you how pleased I am.”

“Oh…” It wasn’t quite a groan. It was more like the kind of incredulous noise Kurt would have made if he’d bitten into one of Noah’s delicious mushroom tarts.

Now Kurt allowed himself to stroke and thrust in earnest. Hearing his noises mirrored in Teague’s voice across the room was hot, there was no doubt, but knowing Teague was waiting for Kurt’s command was far hotter. He paused several times on the edge of coming, waiting for the sensation to retreat to manageable levels before continuing.

“So many possible ways to get you to surrender,” he murmured. Teague made a sudden gasp.

“Fuck,” he said, sounding almost panicked. “I’m—I’m close, Kurt.”

“That’s okay, you’re doing fine. If it happens, just let it happen. You’re not in control of that right now. Stay with me, now. Are you ready?”

“Oh, god, I’m so—yes, I’m ready, right now.”

“Are you ready to _ask,_ Teague,” Kurt said sharply.

“Please,” he whispered, “please, let me—I have to come, please—“

“Right now.” Kurt was already spilling over his own fist, and he was sure it was obvious from the catch in his voice, that Teague would know exactly what he was doing. Even over the release of his orgasm, even beyond the rush of Teague’s own disbelieving moans, he still felt the hot flush of guilt at how he’d manipulated this boy into doing exactly what he wanted him to.

“Oh, my god,” Teague was gasping, “how did you—? I’ve never—“

Kurt made himself lie flat on his sweaty sheets, feeling ashamed and desperately, absurdly lonely.

 _I’m not going to get attached to this boy,_ he told himself firmly. _I’m not._

“Believe me, honey,” he said eventually, “you’re going to have a lot more ways to lose _I Never_ before I’m done with you.”

Teague let out an hysterical little laugh. It made Kurt relax a bit more. “I believe you. That was… I didn’t think I could physically _do_ that.”

“Yes, you made that very clear.” Kurt propped himself up on his elbow, looking over at Teague’s flushed face. “I would suggest you give up all your preconceived notions about what you can or cannot do, right now. Trust me, I’ve been there, and all you’re doing is holding yourself back.”

“Yeah, okay.” He blinked a couple times, then laughed again, shaking his head. “Wow.”

“Look at that,” Kurt murmured. “And I haven’t even spanked you yet.”

Teague turned toward Kurt, smiling sheepishly. “This morning… I woke up hoping you might, and I thought, well, if I’m already this turned on by the _idea_ of you doing that _,_ what would happen if I was turned on while you were _doing_ it, and I figured I’d… better take care of things first.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Kurt put out a hand. “All of— _this_ —was because you were worried about getting off on the spanking? Teague, that happens. It’s a normal response. Typical, even.”

“I knew that. I think I misunderstood your comfort level with that kind of response. I’m a little less worried about being _not sexual_ with you now.”

Kurt closed his eyes and sighed. “Yeah. That was misleading at best. I’m… I should apologize. For all of this, really. What we just did, it wasn’t fair to you.”

“Are you kidding?” Teague said, laughing. His eyes were bright, his face more animated than Kurt had seen it. “Believe me, that was entirely with my consent. And enthusiastic participation.”

Kurt unwound himself from his comforter and sat up, trying not to worry about his damp pajama pants, then walked over to Teague’s bed. “Come on,” he said. “Up.”

Teague self-consciously wiped his hand on a tissue before letting Kurt lever him upright, sliding his feet beneath his covers to rest on the floor. He was taller even than Finn, but more slender, his skin as pale as Kurt’s own. Kurt sat beside him on the bed. It was the closest Kurt had ever been to him. He noticed a tiny scar on Teague’s upper lip.

“Thank you,” Kurt said. “For being so forthright with me. This whole experience of moving to Westerville, being away from home, away from my family, I wasn’t doing very well with it. I’m still not. I’m scared of what’s happening with Blaine, what might happen if I mess up. And now… I’m scared of taking charge of you.”

Teague shook his head, looking at his lap. “You don’t really have to do it, if you’re scared.”

“Yes,” said Kurt gently. “I do. I _want_ to. I’m not scared of being able to _do_ it. I’m scared of liking it too much. Of making you do what I want you to do, instead of what’s best for you.”

“Oh.” Teague looked up in surprise. “I don’t think you’re doing that.”

“No, I’m definitely doing that. I’m just hoping the things you want and the things I want will coincide long enough for me to figure out how to be more accountable to myself. I’ll try not to send such mixed signals.” He took a deep breath. “Having said that… do you want a hug?”

“A hug?” Teague looked somewhat abashed at the idea. “Maybe I should put on some clothes first.”

“Skin contact is important, especially when you’re establishing this kind of trust,” Kurt said. “Please. Would you let me?”

Teague’s initial contact was tentative, but after a few seconds, he relaxed into Kurt’s arms, and Kurt was able to pull him closer, to hug him tighter. He could feel Teague’s pulse, the rhythm of his breath, and rested a hand on his hair.

“Wow,” Teague said again. When he sat back, blinking into Kurt’s face, he looked even more hopeful. “Would you, now?”

“Would I what?”

“Spank me?”

“Just—because?” Kurt must have sounded really confused, because Teague smiled until the scar on his lip stretched tight.

“I suppose you could make up some story about me being a bad boy who needs punishment, but I don’t have the sense that you pretend that way.”

“I never have,” Kurt agreed. “Maybe that’s fun for some people? I don’t know. I don’t think that’s what we’re going for here.”

Teague shook his head. “So… if you aren’t too tired?”

Kurt looked around the room at the drawn blinds, the bed on which they sat. “Right here, I think. I’m going to suggest a pillow on the floor for your knees.”

It was more than a little surreal to help position Teague beside him on the bed. Teague knelt on the floor and faced the window, the bed supporting the top half of his body. Kurt touched first his leg, then slid his hand up to cover Teague’s pale buttock with his palm. _It’s been a long time since I did this without tools,_ he thought, trying not to feel inadequate.

“You’re sure about this?” he said.

“Please.”

It was only the second time Teague had said that word to him. Kurt could hear its significance.“You said you aren’t accustomed to asking for things.”

“No.” Teague’s voice was muffled.

“It will get easier. I want you to be able to ask. Say, _please, will you spank me?”_

“Please. Will you… spank me?”

He could feel them both slipping out of regular conversation, back into that state in which such questions were not only ordinary, but expected. “That’s good.” He tapped Teague’s other buttock, and felt him flinch. “In the future, you’ll need a way to make me stop that isn’t the word _stop,_ but today, I want you to say _stop_. If you aren’t sure if you want me to stop or not, it’s okay to let me decide. I won’t cause you any harm.”

“I trust you,” said Teague.

Kurt felt another rush of absurd pride and privilege, that Teague had not only asked him to do this thing, but believed what he said. “What is it you’re feeling bad about right now?”

“Bad?” Teague sounded confused. “Nothing? I feel… so good.”

“I’m glad.” He stroked his back, up and down his spine, then returned to rest his hand on the span of both cheeks. “Is there anything you want to let go of? A feeling, a memory you regret?”

This time he waited for the span of three breaths to respond. “My face.”

Kurt waited for more, but that seemed to be it. “What about your face?”

“You know. The—the scar.”

“All right.” Kurt wondered if Teague meant the one on his lip. He had a hard time imagining that barely-there scar was of deep concern to Teague, but he was not going to judge his choice at this vulnerable moment. “Take a deep breath, then let it out slowly.”

It was anybody’s guess how Teague was going to respond to this activity, something Kurt had only ever done with a handful of other people. He had a moment of panic— _how_ could he have thought he could represent himself as any kind of authority on spanking?—before his hand landed, _slap,_ and he felt Teague’s body quiver and heard him sigh, tucking himself in closer to Kurt’s hip.

“That’s it,” he murmured. He landed three more slaps across the surface of Teague’s behind, watching the pink color bloom on his skin. When he focused the next several swats in one spot, Teague shifted, then exclaimed when Kurt rubbed the spot with his hand before continuing.

“What—do I need to do?” Teague gasped.

“Nothing,” said Kurt. “Don’t fight it. Let it hurt.”

He felt Teague’s breathing lengthen, and even though he was shaking, his body continued to respond under Kurt’s swats. Kurt’s hand was already tingling with the repeated impact. When Teague squirmed to avoid it, Kurt was ready for that. He took a firmer hold on Teague’s hip.

“I’ve got you,” he urged, and heard him choking on his tears. “Don’t worry. No one can hear you. You’re safe here.”

Whether or not that was actually true, it did the trick. Teague buried his face and cried quietly into the bedsheets, grabbing big handfuls of them with his fists. Kurt didn’t stop there, but accelerated his swats the way Adam had taught him, using wide arm motions and letting gravity do most of the work.

“That’s it,” he said. Teague curled into Kurt’s side, reaching for him, but Kurt put a hand on the center of his back, pressing him down hard into the bed. Teague let out a moan. “You’re not quite done yet. All right? Just let me take care of it.”

 _The paddle, next time,_ he thought, in a dreamy haze, as he leaned over Teague to get better leverage for the final series of swats, _or perhaps the flogger._

Teague lay still after Kurt was done. He rested his hand on the red surface of Teague’s skin, rubbing gentle circles of comfort and stimulation. Teague sighed. This time, when he moved toward Kurt, pressing his forehead to the leg of Kurt’s flannel pajama pants, Kurt did not stop him. He did check Teague’s pulse, which was rapid but steady, and listened to his breathing for a long moment. It was a relief to note he had no desire to take Teague the way he did with Noah after disciplining him.

“Such a good boy,” he murmured. “So beautiful. You did that so well.”

Teague opened his eyes and gazed up at Kurt in heartbreaking disbelief. _“You_ think I’m beautiful.”

“You are,” Kurt said. He touched Teague’s jaw, cupping it with his hand, and brushed against the scar on Teague’s lip with his thumb. Teague’s eyes closed again, just for a moment. “Whatever you see in the mirror, I saw only a beautiful face, from the moment we met. And now, I see so much more.”

Kurt let Teague sit with that idea for a few seconds before standing up, helping him to stretch out on the bed on his side. He straightened Teague’s sheet and carefully pulled it up over him. “I’ll be right back. I’m just getting you some water.”

Teague’s eyes watched him walk away. Even this many feet felt like too far a distance between them at the moment, but Kurt made himself stand in the bathroom for a little while, staring into the mirror. His own pulse was steady, and he felt calm and focused. He thought about Blaine, sleeping off his hangover in the room down the hall, and his heart did a little skip, but the anxious energy he’d felt since last week was gone.

It was the second glass of water he’d handed Teague that day, but Teague accepted this one like a kind of communion. He drank, watching Kurt over the rim of the glass with something like awe. Kurt let it wash over him, smiling in approval.

“I can see why you take this all so seriously,” Teague told him, his voice a little rough. “I feel like I’ve played an entire Grade A Grand Slam, and it’s not even seven-thirty in the morning.”

“You want me to lie down here with you for a little while?” Kurt asked.

“Please,” said Teague. The word seemed to come easily now, though his face flushed as he said it.

He made room for Kurt to stretch out beside him on the narrow bed. Kurt stayed propped up on his elbow, gazing down at Teague. When Teague put a tentative hand on Kurt’s bare chest, touching his tattoo with his fingertips, Kurt let him.

“Noah and Finn have the same tattoo,” he said. “And my lover abroad, and one other man. The five of us, it was… an important occasion.”

Teague nodded. “I can imagine.”

Kurt ran a hand through Teague’s dark hair, tidy even after all of their morning activities, and enjoyed the way Teague leaned into his touch, his eyes closing.

“Would you tell me about your scar?” Kurt asked.

“I had a cleft lip and palate when I was born. My parents scheduled reconstructive surgery right away, but it’s never really looked normal.”

He moved his hand to cup Teague’s face. “That’s why you push people away. Because you don’t feel normal.”

Teague’s eyes were still closed. “Yes.”

“Do you know I didn’t notice the scar until this morning?”

“That’s hard to believe.” He reached up a hand to rub it with the side of one finger.

“But you believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “What you said. After you…”

“That you’re beautiful?” Kurt guessed.

Teague nodded. “Nobody’s ever said that to me. And coming from somebody like you…”

“Somebody like me,” Kurt prompted. He smiled as Teague opened his eyes again, then smiled back helplessly.

“You know what I mean. Somebody who looks like you. Who does—this. You _did this_ to me.”

“I did.” Kurt tried not to laugh. “You think you might want me to do it again?”

“Yes,” Teague said immediately. Kurt nodded, feeling immeasurably satisfied.

“There’s a woman down in Columbus, another professional, who can help us with tools. I’m going to take the bus into the city to meet with her this afternoon.”

“I can drive you, if you don’t mind the company. I have a lot of questions.” Teague hesitated. “Unless you’d prefer a little time apart.”

“I’ll let you know, but… I’d rather you not try to distance yourself from me.” He raised an eyebrow. “Understood?”

“Yes,” Teague said again, sounding breathless. He looked wholly transformed from the reserved, solemn boy Kurt had met a week ago. It would have been remarkable if Kurt hadn’t expected it.

 _This experience might not be sexual, but it changes you,_ he thought, running his fingers over Teague’s lip, and watched him shudder. _It changes both of you._

“So our gentleman’s agreement,” Kurt said. “As it stands, you ask for your own release, and I’ll manage mine. If you want to have lovers, I’m not going to interfere. And this other arrangement… I may offer discipline even if you don’t ask, but you may always say no, and you don’t need a reason to ask for it. And you keep my secrets, all right? I can’t have everyone knowing about what’s going on with Blaine, or the people he can barely remember. Agreed?”

“Of course. Yes.”

Kurt smiled down at him, bemused. “You’re so sure you’ll continue to want this? After one experience?”

“You’ve convinced me. This is something I want.” Teague gazed earnestly back. “And in exchange, I can help you.”

“Yes, you said that last night. You want me to—to what? What exactly would you do for me?”

“Well, I would assist you by putting you in touch with other boys at Dalton. Boys who would benefit from an arrangement like this. My services would provide a filter between you and the outside world.”

Kurt nodded slowly. “I’m still not certain that’s feasible, or even desirable, but… I’m not going to rule out the possibility of that kind of arrangement.”

“Now, finding others safely and anonymously, that will take some creative networking.” Teague looked thoughtful.“But I have connections. And I promise won’t give out your name, or sabotage your relationships.” He was watching Kurt with anticipation. “So…what do you think?”

“What do I think?” Kurt patted Teague’s chest. “I think you’re going to go far in business.”


	4. Coffeehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Teague talk business with Irene at the coffeehouse, and stay to sing with someone unexpected. Kurt gets a phone call from Blaine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Irene, aka Mistress Tib](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/143141899494/irene-tibideaux-in-the-donutverse-is-played-by), is a longstanding OC in the Donutverse. Blaine’s twin fans are also recurring Donutverse characters, but won’t appear on Glee until season 6. 
> 
> -amy

Kurt could already hear the musicians doing their sound check when he and Teague walked in the back door of Irene’s coffeehouse. Teague took a long appreciative breath in through his nose.

“Coffee sounds like a good idea this morning,” he said. “You want something, Kurt?”

“First chauffeur, now waiter, hmm?” Kurt said. Teague seemed unruffled by his teasing, but he was also waiting expectantly, so Kurt added, “I wouldn’t mind a double nonfat latte, no whip.”

“Coming right up,” he said.

Instead of walking into the coffeeshop, the way he had the last time he’d been there, Kurt stayed in the back hallway. It led to the private room where the BDSM munch was held each month. It was strange to think he could attend that now simply by taking the bus into Columbus from Westerville.

 _Or having someone drive me,_ he thought, watching Teague order their drinks through the open doorway. It wasn’t a terrible experience to be waited on by a senior boy who was willing to spend money on him, but Kurt didn’t think it was wise to get too accustomed to that feeling.

Teague returned promptly, holding Kurt’s latte and something darker for himself. “Where to?”

Kurt led him into the empty room, and they took a seat at the long table. Teague sat holding his coffee mug, smelling the aroma with clear enjoyment. Kurt watched him ruefully. It hadn’t taken long for him to move in his mind from _there’s no way I would,_ to _oh yes, I could do that._ He wasn’t sure how much of it was Teague’s encouragement and how much was his own desire to handle someone, but there was no doubt it was compelling.

“So how was Blaine last night?” Teague asked.

Kurt gave him a smile. When Kurt had returned from Blaine’s room, Teague been fast asleep in his bed, just as Kurt had expected. “He was _drunk_. I’ve never seen him like that before. Jeff and I managed to get him into bed eventually. I imagine he’ll want to sleep it off today.”

“Blaine Anderson’s a party animal.” Teague shook his head in obvious amusement. “He seems to have endless energy, but I suspect he crashes pretty hard. So I know Jeff isn’t officially dating Blaine, but he’s definitely involved somehow. Does he do—what you do, for him?”

“Not anymore,” said Kurt. He took a sip of his latte. “That was part of the reason I came to Dalton. Blaine used to let Jeff do that sometimes, but since his father laid down the law, he hasn’t let anybody touch him.”

“Including you?”

“Not yet. But I’m persistent.” He smiled at Teague. “I bet you know what that means.”

“You mean… the word _persistent_?” Teague looked confused by the question. “Along with most of the high school-educated population, yes?”

“Don’t be so sure about that. Neither of my boyfriends have very big vocabularies.”

Teague’s eyes glittered. “Perhaps they make up for it by having big—“

“Well, well,” came Irene’s rich voice from the doorway. When Kurt stood, Teague stood too, waiting in silence as she regarded them with her customary stern countenance. “If it isn’t the entrepreneur. And who is this?”

“Thanks so much for agreeing to meet with us,” Kurt said. He turned to Teague. “This is Tib, the owner of this establishment. She’s also a professional Domme.”

“It’s an honor,” said Teague. He bowed his head. “I’ve been informed that I should choose a name other than my real one.”

Irene inclined her own head, gazing at him inquisitively. “Once you’re sure you’d like to be involved in the community, certainly. My understanding is that this is very new for you.”

“You’ll forgive me, ma’am, but I’ve learned it’s best to be prepared.”

“As you wish.” She gestured at the table, and they sat. “It sounds like you might have a name in mind?”

He nodded. “I qualified to compete in the junior division of the International Tennis Federation when I was fourteen. When you register, you get an identification number that stays with you for your entire tennis career, three letters and seven numbers. If I wanted to play pro tennis, later, I would use the same ID. My letters are CAM. I thought that would be a good name.”

“Cam,” said Irene, nodding. “Well chosen.” She turned to Kurt. “I don’t think you’ve ever selected a pseudonym for yourself, have you?”

“I was fortunate enough to have one chosen for me,” said Kurt wryly. “Call me Porcelain.”

Irene didn’t exactly smile, but her eyes conveyed her amusement. “You’ll have to tell me that story some time.” She patted the bag under her arm. “Would you like to look at the tools I brought for you, or would you prefer to try them?”

“Let’s save that for another day,” said Kurt, as Teague sat a little straighter in his chair. “He might be a little too sore to consider another round so soon.” 

“Fair enough.” She opened the bag and brought out a narrow paddle made of smooth plastic material, along with two sleeves, one leather and one padded cloth. “While many pros use leather tools on their clients, I’m suspicious of its porous nature. If you are going to share tools among multiple partners, you’ll want to be able to sanitize them completely. Hepatitis C is notoriously hard to kill without bleach or boiling. So…” She held up the paddle. “This silicone paddle is durable, and you can use any number of different personalized covers on it, depending on what your client needs.”

She handed the paddle and the cloth sleeve to Kurt. He slid the sleeve onto the paddle and fastened it securely, then hefted it. “It’s lighter than my leather paddle.”

“That’s true. If you’re looking for more weight, you might select a wooden spoon, or the back of a hairbrush, or a ruler. A good leather belt is a fine choice, too.”

Kurt was watching Teague’s reaction to the tools, but he didn’t seem bothered by any of them in particular. He just nodded, looking thoughtful and attentive. When Irene set three floggers on the table, he immediately reached to touch the tails of the black one.

“That flogger is made of silicone, just like the paddle,” she said. “But for unparalleled range of sensation, you can’t go wrong with leather. I recommend all subs possess their own leather floggers, in whatever degree of stinginess and thuddiness they might prefer.”

Kurt thought about the blood-rimmed welts on Puck’s back, left by Lauren’s latigo flogger. “I’m a fan of suede,” he said to Teague, “but I also appreciate soft leather with an angled cut. Noah likes a much harsher impact.”

Teague nodded. “And your other boyfriend? Finn?”

“He's Christopher here,” Kurt said, watching Irene's eyes flash a warning at him. “And I don't think he'd mind me telling you he has an affection for a single-tail whip.”

Teague’s eyes grew wider. “Not for beginners, I'd imagine.”

“I should say not," said Irene severely. "The last tool I’ll recommend to start with, Porcelain, is the cane.” She set a long, straight tool with a handle on the table. “Again, this is non-porous material, but some pros swear by their wooden dowels. You have seen the results of disciplinary caning, haven't you?"

"I have," said Kurt, keeping his voice steady. "Not something I'd want to mess around with."

"The cane can be brutal, but it can also be used subtly, without a need for much noise or effort. Now, you’ll also want devices for fastening your sub to himself or furniture. The easiest method for this is bondage tape, which also has the advantage of being washable and reusable. I’ve included a few rolls in different colors.” She looked at Teague. “Do you have any questions so far?”

“K—Porcelain showed me a set of handcuffs and a collar,” Teague said. “Are those things I should have?”

“That depends,” said Irene. “You may be aware that there is a great deal of ceremony among the BDSM community around the meaning and use of bondage gear. If such ceremony appeals to you, your Dom might choose to supply you with restraints that symbolize his ownership or control over you. I think, for practical discipline, it helps to do away with some of the pageantry of BDSM and stick with functional, useful tools. Porcelain’s mentor Derek, on the other hand, goes the other direction and begins with a great deal of ceremony. He works by stripping away the identity of his subs, leaving them open to suggestion and any structure he desires to impress upon them.”

Irene’s words made Kurt wonder. _Could Carl’s method be used to rebuild Blaine’s identity from the ground up? Or could that cause even more damage?_ It was a frightening thought. Luckily, Teague did not appear to be deterred.

“I think we’ll start with these,” said Kurt. “There’s no need to jump into anything more… complex.”

“Good.” She showed them a few spray bottles in the bag. “You will want to spray your tools with peroxide and then clean them with a 10% solution of detergent and water. This is a useful activity for subs to engage in, assuming you trust them to be meticulous enough.” The last item in the bag appeared to be a thin, soft blanket. She held it out for Kurt to touch. “Containing fluids like blood and semen is crucial for personal safety. This mattress pad is waterproof and washable. I supply one to each of my subs. Now, I know you prefer certain textures, so I took the liberty of including a cotton cover instead of a synthetic one. And bear in mind, scent is a powerful tool as well. If you wash this pad with your clothing, and maybe a few drops of your cologne, it will help your sub to maintain a connection with you when you’re not around.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “A kinky security blanket?”

“Something like that,” Irene said placidly. “Our subs often revert to early patterns when they’re thrown into crisis. Don’t underestimate the need for thoughtful aftercare. It stays with them long after you’ve sent them home.”

Irene handed the bag to Kurt as Teague counted out rather a lot of bills in exchange. Even at wholesale prices, tools like these didn’t come cheap. It made Kurt feel a little ill to see that much of someone else’s money changing hands. Teague noticed his discomfiture, and touched Kurt’s arm.

“It’s not a loan,” he said. “It’s an investment. You’ll pay me back once you have more clients.”

“Now, don’t forget to tell that blonde boy-toy of Derek’s what you’re doing,” she said to Kurt. “He’s the one who’s going to make sure you have all your forms filed properly and your paperwork in order. You’re not old enough to affirm contracts on your own, but since Cam is eighteen, you and he can go into business together.”

“Like _he_ did with Derek,” Kurt said. He gazed at Teague with new awareness. _He could be my Davis._

“Now, the open mic is starting soon. I’ve got to go relieve Sonia at the counter. You’re welcome to stay or go, but don’t take those tools out of the bag until you get home.” She gave them what passed for a smile before leaving them alone in the room.

“Do you want to stay for the music?” asked Teague.

“If you don’t mind, for just a little while? I can’t imagine you have unlimited time to spend on me, but…”

Teague shook his head, smiling. “I’m not even close to sick of you yet. Here, I’ll get us a refill.”

The first people Kurt saw as he entered the coffeehouse were the young twins, sitting by themselves at the back. The short-haired one pointed at Kurt, speaking excitedly to the long-hared one. He gave them a little wave, and they waved back.

“Two of Blaine’s fans,” he said to Teague, who nodded as though this were an ordinary thing to have. Blaine Warbler seemed to have plenty of fans to spare at Dalton.

Kurt took a seat at the table beside them. The short-haired twin looked a little bashful, but the long-haired one turned toward him, far enough for Kurt to read the t-shirt: _Shut Up, I’m A Princess._

“You’re Derek’s friend, right?”

“That’s right,” said Kurt. He hesitated before adding, “I’m Christopher’s boyfriend.”

“Ohh,” they chorused. The short-haired twin was clearly horror-struck. This one's shirt said _I Don’t Care What Gender You Think I Am._ “That’s why Patrick has been so sad? He and Patrick broke up?”

“No, um…” Kurt was already regretting bringing it up. “It’s complicated. I’m kind of…”

“Oh, you’re both dating him.” the long-haired twin interrupted. “That's cool. And are you dating Derek too?”

“Madison,” the short-haired twin hissed, elbowing them in the ribs. “Don’t be so nosy.”

“I’m not,” Madison protested. “We saw Derek and Christopher at Rocky Horror, at Halloween, but Patrick wasn’t there. Mason dressed up as Riff-Raff.”

“I played Riff-Raff in our school production,” said Kurt. Madison and Mason squealed in appreciation just as Teague joined them at the table.

“Oh, you did West Side Story?” Teague asked, handing Kurt his latte.

“Is _he_ your boyfriend too?” Madison stage-whispered, and earned another elbow from Mason.

“I’m his roommate at school,” said Teague, smiling. “My name’s Teague.”

“I’m Madison, she/her. This is Mason, they/them.”

Teague looked a little confused, but he nodded. “Um, I’m a he. This is—“ He paused, raising an eyebrow at Kurt.

“Porcelain,” said Kurt, pasting on a determined smile. “My friend Toby would claim my gender is fabulous, but I’ll stick with he/him, especially considering I’m going to a boy’s prep school.”

“Porcelain,” Madison breathed. “Oh, that’s—perfect.”

Teague leaned over to Kurt, giving him a little smile. “I think _you_ have fans, too.”

“I think _you_ should shut up,” Kurt said sweetly.

“Fair enough. So I was thinking about what Tib said, and considering what kind of advertising we could manage. Business cards, for sure. They’re subtle, anonymous, easy to distribute. And you’ll need to get a second phone line, keep it off the—“ Teague paused. “Hey, I thought you said he wasn’t coming today.”

Kurt swiveled around in shock to see Blaine—no, it was _Patrick—_ climbing onto the low stage with his guitar case slung over his shoulder. “He wasn’t. I mean… I assumed, he was so drunk last night.”

Patrick did not appear to be at all hungover. He crouched down to speak with the girl in the glasses, sitting in the front row, and smiled as they talked quietly.

Kurt watched Teague’s expression go from surprised to wary. “What’s up with his hair?”

“He always wears it like that when he sings here.” Kurt sighed. “Maybe we should go…”

But he stayed where he was, listening to Patrick tune his electric guitar. Patrick gave the room a half-hearted smile as he pulled a stool up to the mic.

“Hi, everybody.” There was scattered applause. “I’ll start off with a Sum 41 song, mostly so I can try out these new strings.”

[ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=By7ctqcWxyM_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=By7ctqcWxyM)

_I tried to be perfect  
_ _But nothing was worth it  
_ _I don't believe it makes me real  
_ _I'd thought it'd be easy  
_ _But no one believes me  
_ _I meant all the things I said  
_ _If you believe it's in my soul  
_ _I'd say all the words that I know  
_ _Just to see if it would show  
_ _That I'm trying to let you know  
_ _That I'm better off on my own…_

Teague listened to Patrick sing one stanza before he turned to Kurt in obvious bewilderment. “What is going on?”

“This is Patrick,” Kurt said. “This is how he is, when he’s here. He doesn’t know he’s Blaine.”

It hurt to watch Blaine like this, but listening to him sing, even about depressing things, almost made up for it. The audience applauded when he was done.

“U2,” called Madison hopefully, and Patrick almost smiled.

“I’m on it,” he said into the mic. “Why do you think I brought the Les Paul?” He flipped a switch on the front of the guitar and began to vamp the distinctive _wah_ riff from Mysterious Ways. Madison was already beaming, bouncing in her seat.

“I didn’t know Blaine even played the guitar,” Teague said, staring at the stage. “He sounds… so good. So _professional.”_

Kurt smiled despite himself. “You should hear him play the piano.”

“I could use some backup.” Patrick scanned the audience, then shrugged. “Anyway…”

Teague gave Kurt a push. “Go,” he hissed.

Kurt hadn’t even realized he was standing. He took a step, feeling his pulse race, then steeled himself before hurrying up and hopping onto the stage beside Patrick.

"Can I help?" he asked. 

“Hey, sure.” Patrick barely glanced at him, but he was smiling. He pointed at the music, all business. “Up an octave here, and then take the harmony on the _it’s all right, it’s all right…”_ He sang in effortless falsetto. Kurt nodded.

Madison and Mason were both drumming on the table with their hands in a familiar way. It made Kurt want to laugh out loud.

“You sing this with Labyrinth,” he said to Patrick. “Christopher taught the audience to play the drum part.”

“Ah, you’ve seen us before,” Patrick said, grinning bigger. “Try to keep up, new kid.”

<https://youtu.be/JP8ZNekmxJQ>

_Johnny take a walk  
_ _With your sister the moon  
_ _Let her pale light in  
_ _To fill up your room_

_You've been living underground  
_ _Eating from a can  
_ _You've been running away  
_ _From what you don't understand_ …

At least the cues were easy to follow. Patrick gave Kurt an approving nod when he invented a respectable harmony to go with the chorus. Then Kurt made the mistake of reading ahead to the second verse.

_Johnny take a dive  
_ _With your sister the rain  
_ _Let her talk about the things  
_ _You can't explain_

_To touch is to heal  
_ _To hurt is to steal  
_ _If you want to kiss the sky  
_ _Better learn how to kneel_

Kurt somehow managed to continue breathing as Patrick snarled _On your knees, boy!_

_It's all right, it's all right, it's all right  
_ _She moves in mysterious ways…_

Patrick coiled into his Les Paul like he was one of the strings, letting the energy of his whole body carry the funky mood of the song. He did it in a way that Blaine Warbler would never be able to pull off—but Patrick did, effortlessly.

The audience continued the drum part to the very end. This time there was more applause, and whistles of approval from Madison. Teague was shaking his head, but he was clapping too.

Patrick reached over and patted Kurt on the back. “That was _fun,”_ he declared. “You want to pick something else?”

“Um,” said Kurt, indicating the door. “I think I’d better—”

“Aw, come on. There’s got to be something we both know.” He handed Kurt his binder. “Take a look.”

There was no need for him to look, considering he’d been the one to print, tab, and organize Blaine’s binder of standards, but he wasn’t going to bring that up now. It was just a matter of choosing one that wouldn’t throw Patrick too badly.

“Rolling Stones,” he said, biting his lip. “If you don’t mind.”

He flipped to the page and handed it to Patrick. For a moment, Kurt looked at him, and he looked back, and the stage presence and sadness parted, like a veil. Kurt could see Blaine underneath—the _real_ Blaine, the one made up of all the parts he struggled with every day. Kurt wished he knew how to give that confused, lonely boy a message. Maybe, somewhere inside, Blaine would hear this music, and he would know someone was searching for him.

<https://youtu.be/REm29YGBVyg> (sung by Noah Guthrie)

_Childhood living is easy to do  
_ _The things you wanted I bought them for you  
_ _Graceless lady you know who I am  
_ _You know I can't let you slide through my hands_

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
_ _Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away…_

Kurt sang harmony loud and full on the chorus, and though Patrick never missed a beat, all his attention was suddenly on Kurt. He nodded as they moved into the second verse, stepping back to let Kurt take a turn at the mic to sing lead.

_I watched you suffer a dull aching pain  
_ _Now you've decided to show me the same  
_ _No sweeping exit or offstage lines  
_ _Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind_

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away…_

He angled his body toward Patrick to sing the second chorus with him, and Patrick mirrored him. Kurt made it sound good for the audience, but the song was all for Blaine.

This time, when the song came to an end, Patrick kept his eyes on Kurt, holding them through the applause.

“Thanks for staying,” he said. “I really needed that.”

“Me too,” Kurt replied softly. “Thanks for asking.”

Then the show face was back, Patrick’s own particular show face, and he gave the audience a wave before crouching down to pack up his guitar.

“Man,” he said offhandedly to Kurt amid the muted hum of conversation, “Christopher’s going to be sad he missed _that.”_

“I’ll be back. Not next week, because we have—another show, but the next Saturday before Christmas.”

“Maybe I’ll see you then.”

Kurt hesitated, then added, “And I’ll see you at Warblers practice tomorrow.”

“Great,” he called, waving. “Bye, Kurt.”

Teague drew up beside him as he watched Patrick—Blaine?—shoulder his guitar case and head out the door. His head was whirling with questions, and he felt like he might cry any minute, or at least throw something.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Teague said. He handed the bag of tools to Kurt. “You ready to go now?”

“Yeah.” The word came out in a long sigh. “I am definitely ready.”

* * *

Kurt woke up in confusion to the sound of a phone vibrating. It wasn’t his own phone, he could tell. On top of that, he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Stumbling in the dark, he followed the sound to his closet door, to the pocket of his robe. It was a phone he’d never seen before, the type you might use and then discard. _Call from Westerville, OH,_ read the display.

“Kurt?” Teague asked sleepily.

“Is this yours?” Kurt brought it to his bedside. Teague struggled to sit up, switching on the light, and shook his head. With some consternation, Kurt pressed the button to receive the call. “Hello?”

_“Um… J?”_

“No, I’m sorry, this is Kurt.”

_“Kurt?”_

Kurt blinked. “Is this—Blaine?”

 _“What happened to J?”_ He sounded desperately confused. Kurt wasn’t exactly sure what to say, other than _I have no idea how this phone turned up in the pocket of my robe._

“Hold on, I’ll be right there,” he said into the phone. Then he handed it to Teague. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but would you please listen and hang up when I pick up the other end?”

“Of course,” Teague said.

Kurt put on his white robe and padded through the quiet hallway in his bare feet, around the corner and down to the end, to Blaine’s room. He knocked on the door as loudly as he dared at two in the morning. “It’s Kurt. Please open up.”

There was a long pause before he heard Blaine’s tearful voice on the other side. “Kurt, what are you doing here?”

“Please,” he said again. He shifted from foot to foot, then sighed, planting both feet. _“Blaine._ Open the door. _”_

He heard the turning of the bolt, then the door opened a crack. Blaine was standing there in his boxers, looking exhausted and bewildered. “Did—wasn’t that you on the phone?”

“Who were you trying to reach?” Kurt stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“It’s nobody. Just a boy who works at the North Hills Mall.” Blaine stared at the phone in his hand. “We’ve been talking on and off for weeks. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I—I call him and I sing to him.”

Kurt squashed his feelings of unreasonable jealousy. “Honey.”

“I know, it’s stupid.” He let out a long sigh. “I don’t even know his real name.”

“It’s not stupid.” Kurt reached out and offered Blaine his hand, watching for any sign of rejection, but Blaine took it readily. They walked to his bed and sat on the rumpled covers. “Where’s Jeff?”

“At Harriet’s. He’s been spending a lot of nights at her place lately. I think he’s avoiding me.” He sniffed. “Not that I blame him.”

“We’re all worried about you, Blaine,” Kurt said. “I’m sorry you couldn’t reach J. Would you consider calling me the next time you can’t sleep?”

“I wouldn’t want to wake you up,” he said doubtfully. “It’d be different if you were awake already. J doesn’t sleep well either.”

“I want you to wake me up.” Kurt squeezed his hand, and Blaine blushed.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I like you.” He knew that would be hard enough for Blaine to swallow without adding _and you spent the summer in our bed._ “Do you want me to sit here with you while you fall asleep?”

“You really don’t have to do that, Kurt.” But Blaine let him pull back the covers and tuck him back in. He sighed, making contented noises that dug into Kurt’s chest.

“Just close your eyes,” he said, turning the light off. “I’ll be right here.”

In the dark, Blaine’s breathing was eerily familiar. It was strange not to hear Puck’s and Finn’s along with it.

“Sometimes,” Blaine said quietly, “I wonder what parts of my dreams are real, and what parts I’m only going to see at night.”

Kurt ran a hand over his leg, covered in blankets. “I know that’s confusing. I’m not sure if J’s real, but _I_ am.”

“That’s what he said about himself, too. He promised me he’s really real.”

Kurt hesitated, then stretched out next to Blaine on his bed, so he could look into his face. Blaine’s eyes were enormous in the moonlight.

“Do you remember singing at Java the Hut today?”

Blaine nodded. “You sounded so good on Mysterious Ways. I don’t think you and I have ever sung that before.”

“Is that why you didn’t invite me to sing with you on stage?”

“No!” Blaine looked surprised. “I just thought…”

“What did you think?”

He laughed nervously. “Kurt, you’re an _amazing_ singer. I mean, you’ve really got something special, and I’m just… me. I never expect that you’d _want_ to sing with me.”

The answer sounded plausible, even though it made him feel like throwing things again. The problem was, Kurt couldn’t tell for sure if Blaine really _did_ think that, or if he was making up a story to account for something he couldn’t understand himself.

“I talked with your fans,” Kurt said. “Mason and Madison? They’re cute.”

“They are,” Blaine said, grinning. “Their mom, Sonia, she’s been working at Java the Hut since I started singing there. I think Madison was the first trans kid I ever met. She’s fierce. They’re good singers, too.”

Kurt kept his attention on Blaine’s eyes this time. “Madison said she ran into Finn and Carl at Rocky Horror, at Halloween.”

“Oh yeah?” Blaine sounded convincingly attentive, not anxious at all, but he didn’t follow up with any questions about either of them. Kurt tried again.

“Do you miss singing with Labyrinth?”

“I really do,” Blaine said, nodding. “It’s really the only time I get to rock out. And sometimes they let me play the piano.”

“When you play Wild Horses with them, who plays what?”

“Oh, you know,” he said vaguely. “We kind of trade off on instruments, so everyone can sing lead? Obviously I never play drums, but sometimes if they’re both on guitar, I shake a mean tambourine.”

Kurt frowned. “But who’s—“

“Do we have to talk about them now?” Blaine snapped. “Jesus Christ, Kurt, sometimes you can be so insensitive.”

Kurt was shocked into silence. Blaine turned over onto his other side, facing the wall.

“I—I’m sorry,” Kurt said. “I imagine you miss them a lot.”

“I miss _him,”_ Blaine whined. He started to cry. “God, so much, and—and I can’t _do_ anything about it.”

Kurt was able to tug him back around, to fit him into his arms, and for Blaine to rest his head on his chest. He didn’t object to Kurt’s kisses or being held tightly, but there was nothing sexual whatsoever about it.

“Do you remember what Finn said on the phone?”

Blaine wiped his eyes. “Who?”

“Blaine,” Kurt said distinctly, “who do you belong to?”

“I can’t play this game tonight, Kurt,” he said wearily. “Okay?”

 _No wonder Jeff’s avoiding you,_ he thought, holding Blaine tighter. Aloud, he just said, “Yes, it’s okay. For now. Just sleep now, and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”


	5. Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Teague breaks an agreement, Kurt struggles with how to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild embarrassment/shame at play here, along with discipline, and some less than stellar boundaries. None of the high school students in the Donutverse are all that in-character for typical high school students, but they still struggle to do things well, so you can expect plenty of mistakes from all of them. -amy

It was comforting to wake up in the morning and find Teague already awake, with the smell of brewing coffee in the air. Kurt stretched, long and indulgent, his hands bumping up against the wood paneling at the head of his bed.

“And I thought I was spoiled _before_ coming to Dalton,” he said, smiling at Teague.

Teague tightened the belt on his bathrobe, then poured milk into one of the steaming mugs. “I think your idea of spoiled might be different from mine. Between our housekeeper, our cook, and my father’s driver, there was somebody who woke me up, picked out my clothes, made me breakfast, reviewed my homework, and drove me to the front step of my school every morning until I was fourteen. Coming to Dalton was a sharp wakeup call. I had to learn how to do all those things on my own, to my own satisfaction, and according to my own schedule.” He shook his head, lost in memories, as he stirred his coffee. “If only I’d had you as my roommate then.”

“Yes, except you were fourteen, and just… no.” Kurt sat up, resisting the urge to finger-comb his hair. Teague was far too tidy for his own good. “And I’ve never really been a morning person.”

“I can keep it dark in here longer, if you’d rather sleep in later.” He handed the mug to Kurt. “Try that and tell me if it needs more sugar. It’s no latte, but it’ll get you to breakfast. So how were you spoiled in the morning at home?”

Kurt smiled, cupping the mug in both hands. “For the past eight months, I’ve been waking up every morning in bed with at least one of my boyfriends.”

“You mean… their parents let them sleep over every night?”

“I mean we _live_ together,” Kurt corrected. “Finn’s mother and my father just got married. Noah’s mother passed away last fall, and my father’s been providing temporary housing for his sister Sarah and him on and off until they can be adopted permanently.” He laughed at Teague’s stunned expression. “I know, it’s absurd.”

“Not the word I would have chosen.” Teague shook his head. “Well, you’ll have to put up with me for now, at least.”

Kurt settled his feet onto the chilly floor, feeling for his slippers with his toes. “That strikes me as disingenuous, Teague. You know very well just how valuable your services have been to me. I’m not _putting up_ with anything.”

Now he looked embarrassed. “I—“

“Neither service nor flattery was part of our agreement, and I will never tolerate that kind of self-deprecation.” He tilted his head, watching Teague’s face flush. “So that makes me think you’re ready to ask for what you really want?”

“You can drink your coffee first—?”

_“Teague.”_

“I was hoping,” he said quickly, “that we might look at a—a scheduled appointment. A regular time that would make sense in both our schedules, and that wouldn’t require too much of you at a time when you might be tired or otherwise occupied.”

“An appointment.” Kurt took a sip. It was really very good coffee.

“For convenience. And to give you a sense if that would work long term, when you have other clients.” He hesitated. “And to… heighten the anticipation.”

 _“If,”_ Kurt stressed, “I ever do this for anyone else at Dalton, it will have to be a very different arrangement than this.” He waited expectantly until Teague nodded, then sipped his coffee again. “Your reasons are sound. I take it you feel ready for another session? Not too sore from Saturday?”

“Not at all.”

“And perhaps you feel… curious. About the tools you purchased.”

“Perhaps.” Teague nodded again. “But they’re your tools, Kurt. That was—“

“An investment, I understand.” He took one more drink of coffee, then checked the clock. “Well, I think breakfast plus discipline might be a bit too much to fit into an hour and a half on Monday morning. Do you suppose you can wait until after fourth period? That would allow for time to recover afterward, before dinner.”

“That would work for me.” He indicated Kurt’s coffee mug. “I’m sorry if making you coffee was overstepping.”

“Oh, trust me, I will absolutely let you spoil me. I just won’t let you do it for the wrong reasons. It’s just going to annoy me.”

Teague leaned forward curiously. “What would be a _right_ reason, then?”

“Because you _like_ to do things for me. Not because you want something in return, but because it feels good.” Kurt traced the rim of the mug with one finger. “Do you remember a time when you enjoyed doing things like this for somebody before?”

“Not really?”

“So, how is this is different?”

Teague thought for a moment. “I imagine it’s the nature of… this relationship. The person you are, and the person I am, relating this very specific way. This kind of relationship is frowned upon in the business world, at least by people in my circles. I’ve been cautioned all my life not to let executives take advantage of me, even if I am subordinate to them. Even kind supervisors will cut your job if it benefits the bottom line. Doing it for you feels safe because you’ve agreed to nurture and preserve the relationship.”

“And you trust me to do that,” added Kurt. “Why do you suppose that is? I’m essentially a stranger. Drink your coffee.”

Teague obeyed, sipping. Watching Teague’s private, reserved face slowly open as they talked was an extraordinary experience. “First of all, I trust in the sanctity of contracts. I looked over the paperwork Tib gave you, and all of it looks sound, but—your integrity as a gentleman, that’s on the line, too.”

Kurt shook his head. “But how can you assume I hold the same standards of integrity as you do? Is that a safe gamble to make when I have you in such a… compromising position?”

Teague’s eyes strayed to the bed, where Kurt had spanked him, and let out an uneasy laugh. “I have to say, Kurt…” He scratched his neck. “Knowing you have that kind of control, that power over me, to potentially ruin my future career? That’s a big part of the appeal of this arrangement.”

“Perhaps.” Kurt set his mug on the floor beside his bed. Then he took Teague’s mug out of his hands and set it down, too. He clutched Teague’s hands in his, gazing into his startled eyes. “The fact that you want to risk that is a big part of the appeal for me. I promise, I won’t take advantage of that trust. It’s a tremendous gift you’re giving me. Better than any coffee.” He smiled, watching Teague’s breathing become erratic, then lengthen again. “And that was _really_ good coffee.”

“It was ground yesterday,” he murmured.

“I’m going to point out your reaction, right now.” Kurt tapped his thumbs on the back of Teague’s hands. “I would advise you to be aware of this feeling. It doesn’t allow for very rational decision-making.”

“No.”

“You might be tempted to give me just about anything I asked you for at this moment.”

He nodded emphatically. “I… yes. That’s accurate.”

“You should also know the feeling is mutual.” Kurt saw him blink. “It may be obvious to you that I am wielding control over you in this arrangement, but the truth is, you have all the real power. You _choose_ to hand it over to me, but I am literally incapable of giving you what you need if you don’t submit to me. And likewise, you can choose to stop all of this, at any time, with a word.”

Teague smirked. “Ah. The infamous safe word.” 

“That’s right.” Kurt rolled his eyes. “I can’t tell you how stupid we were about safe words at the beginning of our relationship. I mean, at the very beginning we didn’t know what they _were,_ but even after we saw them in action, we just decided they weren’t necessary? I’ve since learned—and I think especially in this specific context—they’re crucial. You never know when you might feel one way going into a scene and feel a very different way in the middle of things.”

Kurt rose to his feet, still holding Teague’s hands. Teague’s eyes followed him. His expression was entirely open now, listening. Kurt knew Teague would accept everything he told him to do, without question. He indulged in the warmth of that trust for a long minute, smiling down at him, before letting his hands go.

“I’m going to get ready for breakfast. I’ll meet you back here after fourth period.”

It struck Kurt, as he got dressed, that it was very different to be engaging in this kind of intimate relationship without employing the tools of boyfriendly interaction. If that had been Noah in front of him, he would have kissed him before sending him off to class. Teague’s comfort with his body and awareness of his own sexual orientation might make physical intimacy both easier and more complex, as evidenced by their gentleman’s agreement around masturbation. That already felt pretty edgy, but perhaps better than trying to stifle his own needs, or regulate Teague’s obvious attraction to him. Even so, he thought he would have to be careful to set firm boundaries.

The dining hall was busier than Kurt had expected it to be this early in the morning. It was nice not to have to rush. He picked up a tray and selected a hard-boiled egg and toast, and spooned a generous bowl of oatmeal.

“There’s avocado under that lid.” Blaine’s voice came from a place so close beside his ear, Kurt dropped the oatmeal ladle.

He returned Blaine’s smile, trying not to stare. _You’re still the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met_ was not something one said before seven-thirty in the morning. “Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome. It took me months to discover it.” Blaine reached over him to move the aluminum lid and helped himself to three slices of avocado, neatly layering it on his toast.

Kurt watched him do it in confusion. “Morning avocado sandwich? That’s a thing?”

“I’m not trying to be trendy or anything, but yes, it is. I like it.” He pointed across Kurt to the right, leaning in close with his hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “The espresso machine’s over there. That’s also a thing.”

Kurt fixed his smile on Blaine’s face. “Nonfat latte, no whip.”

“Got it,” said Blaine, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll remember.”

 _Maybe you will,_ Kurt thought, feeling the rush of bitter disappointment, _and maybe you won’t._

Kurt watched Blaine across the room as he went to get his latte. Several people stopped by to chat with him. Blaine never stopped smiling, laughing, or interacting, as though he’d never had social anxiety, or a stutter, or blushed at the drop of a hat. As though this kind of thing was effortless for him.

And what did Kurt know, really? He could tell himself that the Blaine he’d met and fallen in love with over the summer was the real Blaine, and that this one was the imposter. But what if that wasn’t true? What if _this_ was the real Blaine, and whatever Kurt had seen in Blaine had been the product of—what? Stress? Mental illness? He had no idea, no basis by which to judge.

 _Except that wasn’t true,_ he told himself firmly. He did have them, three of them. As much as Noah had no more real proof of Blaine’s true character than Kurt did, Finn had not only met Blaine six months earlier, but he’d spent hours with him each week. He’d seen Blaine at his most vulnerable, in circumstances not unlike the ones Kurt was negotiating with Teague. Finn knew Blaine’s most intimate self.

And then there was Dave, and even before him, Santana. They were Blaine’s childhood friends. He could trust Santana’s opinion that _that_ boy, that confident, gregarious boy, was not the real Blaine at all.

Blaine was still sitting by himself after Kurt had prepared his latte. Kurt approached him cautiously. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Be my guest,” Blaine said, pulling out the chair beside him. “My first period Monday is chemistry, and my lab partner is always late.”

He sat as close to Blaine as propriety would allow. Judging by his behavior thus far, Perfect Blaine had as little personal space as his own Blaine did. When Kurt bumped his arm reaching for the pepper, he didn’t do more than smile and move it a little closer to Kurt.

“So,” said Kurt. “Did you sleep all right last night after I left?”

Blaine didn’t respond at first. This seemed to be a common pattern when Kurt asked him to recall things out of context. He went on eating breakfast as though Kurt hadn’t spoken, but Kurt waited, not pressing. Eventually Blaine looked at him, just a quick glance, but Kurt could see he was considering something.

“I woke up a bunch of times,” he said. “I usually do. Each time I remembered you being there. You _were_ there, right?”

“Yes, I was. I sat with you for a while, then I stretched out next to you.”

“Yeah,” said Blaine, in obvious relief. “That’s what I thought. But then—you didn’t, um. I mean, _we_ didn’t…?” He eyed Kurt again.

“We didn’t do anything else, if that’s what you’re asking. Not last night.”

“Not last night,” Blaine echoed. “But we have done things like that in the past?”

Kurt wondered how far to take this, but so far, the truth had been reasonably well-received. He didn’t want to confuse Blaine by pretending. “Yes, we have.”

“But you have a boyfriend,” Blaine said. “You said, when we played I Never. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

He was getting more agitated, his feet shifting under the table, rubbing his thigh with the flat fingers of one hand. It was a nervous habit Kurt had seen before.

“I have three boyfriends. Two of them are involved with one another.” _And you,_ he wanted to shout, but he kept his voice neutral. “Does that seem strange to you?”

“Oh,” Blaine said, shaking his head, “not really. Jeff has a girlfriend and a boyfriend, and all of them are together. And his sister’s in a long-term relationship with a woman and a man. I suppose the fact that it was ordinary for them made it easier for him to follow that model.”

“That’s what happened for us, too. My boyfriend met a triad in Santa Fe, and once he knew that was possible, he wanted that for himself.” Kurt marveled at how easy it had become to tell that story. “It was scary at first, especially for me.”

Blaine turned in his chair to face him. “Why was it scary?”

“I’ll tell you if you eat your breakfast while we talk.”

He watched Blaine glance back at his plate. He’d barely eaten any of the weird avocado-on-bread, and his orange juice was untouched. For just a moment, Kurt saw Blaine’s face darken with a scowl. Then he picked up his juice and drank half of it, wiping his rosy lips with his napkin. “Please, go on.”

 _Good boy,_ Kurt thought, and his heart gave a resonant _twang_. “Well… I think I was afraid that allowing myself to be in that situation would automatically make me more vulnerable than I would be in a relationship with one other person. I already knew my expectations of relationships were high, and to expect _two_ people to meet them seemed unfathomable. And then, to see the two of them together, that was terrifying—but also so beautiful.”

“I suppose you would really need to trust the two people in order to make that work,” said Blaine. Noticing Kurt’s pointed glance at his bread, he picked it up and nibbled one corner.

“That was the surprising thing, though. I already trusted one of them, and that was based on experience. It took no time at all for me to trust the second one—and that was the scary part. Because it _wasn’t_ based on experience. It wasn’t rational, and until then, I’d never made an irrational choice about something as important as that.”

“It sounds like it worked out well, though,” he said, “assuming you’re still together?”

Kurt smiled sadly. “I can’t say it hasn’t been a bumpy road, but once I gave up trying to base our relationship on logic, things got much better.”

Blane took a bite of avocado and bread and chewed thoughtfully. “I think sometimes you have to take a leap of faith that things _will_ work out. As much as I value logical reasoning, it’s never been something I’ve relied on.”

Kurt giggled. _That’s for sure._ Blaine’s eyes widened at the sound, and he broke out into a full-fledged smile that took Kurt’s breath away.

“Wow,” Blaine said, his eyes shining. “Kurt…”

“Um.” Kurt reached over and nudged Blaine’s tray, and Blaine sat back, his smile fading. “You should probably finish, so you can go to class.”

“Okay.” He’d regained every bit of his confidence, but now it seemed to Kurt that he was giving him a little extra Blaine dazzle. Was that flirting, or compensation for suddenly realizing how vulnerable he’d become? “I’ll see you later.”

There was no discussion about Kurt coming to his room at night, even though he’d done that the night before, and the night before that. He wondered if Blaine would remember this conversation later. Would Kurt have to tell the story of Noah and Finn and himself over and over again, as though Blaine had dementia? _Was_ this something like dementia? It couldn’t be permanent, could it? Blaine had to remember all of the lost details eventually—didn’t he?

Dalton’s block schedule of four 75-minute classes daily seemed deliciously indulgent to Kurt. There was ample time to get from one class to another and an hour and a half in the middle of the day to eat lunch, and although they weren’t done with school until 3:30, it was far less stressful than his schedule had been at McKinley. Nothing was so far away he couldn’t get there in ten minutes. He could even walk three blocks over to Lucky’s Market for groceries if he wanted to. The fact that juniors weren’t allowed to have cars at school was less of a problem than he’d expected.

Kurt took thorough notes on their discussion of _Anna Karenina_ in his World Literature class, which promised to be radically different from his dreary Brit Lit class at McKinley, then took a leisurely walk to chemistry. He spotted Blaine on the way there, but Blaine was deep in conversation with a broad-shouldered boy Kurt didn’t recognize, so Kurt didn’t interrupt him.

Jeff was in his chemistry class with him. He waved at Kurt when he entered the lecture hall, moving his things off the seat he’d saved. Kurt slid into the chair, smiling gratefully.

“We missed you again last night,” Kurt said. Jeff gave him a strange look.

“Really? I figured you guys could use some time alone.”

“Oh!” Kurt stared at him. “Is that—you’ve been staying with Harriet on purpose? You don’t have to do that.”

“Believe me, Harriet agrees with you. We broke up weeks ago. No, I’ve been crashing with Thad. He’s got an empty bed, and he doesn’t snore, so that’s most of my requirements right there.”

“So… what Blaine said about you having a boyfriend and a girlfriend, that’s… what, in the past? Made up? Another Blaine hallucination?”

“The first. Harriet’s great, and we had a good time with Keenan, but it was never serious. Not that it wouldn’t be cool to be in a real triad someday, but…” He waved his hand. “I don’t have the time to put into finding and maintaining a relationship right now. Not the kind I want.”

Kurt nodded understanding. “And what kind is that?”

Jeff raised his pale eyebrows. “You of all people should know that.”

“I suppose you could write a personal ad?”

“Oh, sure. _Obsessively musical high school junior seeks submissive boy to boss around, fucking optional._ Really don’t think that would fly.”

Kurt suspected he was right. He wondered exactly how other people who did what they did usually met other people. Perhaps he should take Jeff to Irene’s BDSM munch.

He was still mulling this over when he returned to Lerner Hall before lunch and unlocked the door to his room—and found Teague on the edge of his bed, scrambling to pull up his pants.

Teague spoke quickly, almost panicking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I thought you were at lunch, I didn’t—“

Kurt let the door close behind him, setting his messenger bag on the floor. He watched Teague _not_ looking at him, hunched over with his hands splayed on his knees, his pale skin blotchy and red with embarrassment.

“Would you like me to come back later?” Kurt asked. Teague shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I know that wasn’t—“

“Would you remind me of our agreement?” Kurt kept his tone quiet and calm, but Teague still squirmed. He looked more upset than Kurt had ever seen him.

“I agreed to—not to touch myself without your permission.”

“Without _asking_ for it, Teague.” He moved forward a few steps, still not close enough for contact, but Teague shifted backward on the bed anyway. “Did you ask for it this morning?”

“No,” he whispered. “I didn’t.”

“Did you forget? Did it slip your mind?”

He shook his head again. When Kurt crouched down beside him, he turned his face toward the window, desperately blinking back tears.

“I couldn’t,” Teague said.

“You couldn’t what?”

“I couldn’t _ask,”_ he said in frustration. Kurt nodded.

“Is it okay if I sit on the bed?”

Teague gave him a pained look. “You don’t have to ask _me_ that.”

He moved to sit beside Teague, still not touching him, but watching, waiting. Teague rubbed the scar on his lip.

“I don’t want to make this unpleasant for you,” Kurt said gently. “Honestly, I don’t really care one way or another what you do. If you’re ashamed of needing… _anything,_ really, I don’t want to make you feel too embarrassed to ask for it.”

“That wasn’t it,” Teague insisted. “I wasn’t embarrassed.”

Kurt wasn’t going to belabor that point, although it seemed pretty obvious he was. He let him stew in his own discomfort. Finally Teague sighed.

“I don’t know why I didn’t ask. It’s never been an issue before. And I don’t mind you taking charge of that, for me.”

His ears were so red, Kurt wondered if they would feel hot to the touch, but he kept his hands to himself.

“You don’t mind?”

“I don’t,” Teague whispered. “I _want_ you to. I haven’t stopped thinking about it, since you suggested it.”

Kurt nodded. “Do you want me to tell you why I think you didn’t?”

Now Teague looked up into Kurt’s face. He nodded.

“Before we do anything else, would you please tell me if you are certain you want to continue this agreement?”

“I’m certain,” he said immediately.

“Okay. This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to take your pants off, and your underwear, and you’re going to kneel on the bed. I’m going to lock the door. I’m going to paddle you, and it’s going to hurt. Then we’re going to go downstairs and have lunch, and if you like, we can talk more about why you didn’t ask.”

Teague watched Kurt closely while he spoke. When he was done, Teague sat unmoving for a long moment. Then he nodded.

Kurt stood up and locked the door. He took off his uniform blazer and hung it on the back of his desk chair. Then he sorted through the bag of tools Irene had provided for them, pulling out the silicone paddle. It felt so different in his hand than the leather one Adam had sent for him to use on Noah.

 _I should have tried this on myself first,_ he thought with regret, but changing his mind with Teague about discipline might be worse than causing a little extra bruising. He slid the leather cover over the paddle, tapping it on his arm.

When he turned around, Teague had complied with all his directions. He was propped up on his elbows, his bare behind in the air. Kurt’s regret increased by several degrees as he watched him, trembling and swaying.

“If you want to stop, you will say _red,”_ said Kurt. Saying those words gave him the most unbelievable sense of imposter system. He almost laughed at himself, but he made himself go on. “If you want to pause, say _yellow._ All right?”

“Okay.”

“You could say it right now,” said Kurt. “We could stop this and go to lunch.”

Teague shook his head. He wasn’t moving from where he knelt. Kurt moved in to stand close beside him, his legs brushing Teague’s shoulder.

“I will have you count to eighteen,” he said. He rested a hand on the center of Teague’s back. Teague jerked away from his touch with a little moan. “Hold still, now.”

Kurt realized, with a sinking feeling, he wasn’t going to be able to use Adam’s technique of a quick flurry of swats, not if Teague was going to count them. He would need to use the strength of his arm, and make each impact land square and true. What if he missed? Why hadn’t he _practiced?_

With a wide arm, he took aim for the fleshiest part of Teague’s slender behind, and struck him with the paddle. Teague gasped, but stayed where he was.

“Count,” Kurt ordered.

Teague gulped. “I’m sorry, I—one.”

Kurt obliged by bringing the paddle down again on the other side, trying to keep the impacts the same. He did that twice more, once on each side, feeling the impact resonate through his own arm.

“Two. Three. Four. _Fuck.”_

“Stay focused.” He ran his other hand over the impact marks, feeling the red edges with his fingers, and Teague cried out. This time when he brought his hand back to deliver another blow, Teague twisted forward to escape it. Kurt sighed. “Can you hold still?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sniffling.

“I want you to try.” This time Kurt placed his hand on Teague’s back and left it there. He felt Teague’s restlessness subside. “Continue from five, please.”

“Five. S-six. Seven.” He quivered, all his attention on Kurt’s touch. Kurt was commanding his attention with the hand on his back, just as though he were looking into Teague’s eyes. It was different, but no less powerful. Kurt put a little more solidity into the next three strokes, feeling the tension between them build. “Eight, nine… ten.”

He hadn’t collapsed onto the bed, and his behind wasn’t bleeding, but Kurt wondered he would do if Teague couldn’t make it to eighteen. He had to take a few deep breaths himself, trying to find a place to brace himself as he took it in, the impact of Teague, submitting to him.

“That’s it,” he said, hearing his voice come out steady. “Continue.”

Now Teague’s voice was calmer, his body no less tense, but open to what Kurt was giving him. “Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen…” He gasped on the next one, his hipsthrusting forward. “Fourteen.”

“Easy,” Kurt said. He dragged his hand up to Teague’s shoulder, resting it on his neck, trying to be unobtrusive as he checked his pulse. It was not too rapid, and steady, and his skin was sweaty, but not cold. “Four more, and we’re done.”

“Okay.”

The last four blows felt no more difficult to him than the previous ones, but Teague clearly thought they were. He cried through them, barely able to choke out the numbers, “Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen… eighteen.”

“There you go. Just let yourself… that’s it.” He took Kurt’s trembling arms and helped them unlock, then lowered him down onto the bed. Teague grabbed his pillow and buried his face in it, weeping. Kurt stroked his hair, making approving noises, and tried to calm his own breathing.

When he touched the bright red patches on Teague’s bottom, Teague moaned into his pillow. Kurt drew his hand away quickly, wondering what Dr. Howell would say in this moment.

“That’s a normal response,” he said. “Don’t be concerned. I’m not.”

“I’m sorry,” Teague said, panting. “You’re not here to—you said we’re not—“

“No, that’s right. I didn’t do it to turn you on. This wasn’t about pleasure. It was about control. You gave up control to me. I’m here to handle it for you. Don’t try to take it back.”

He watched his words hit Teague, land and be absorbed, as surely as the paddle had struck. Teague raised his face from the pillow to look up at Kurt, a picture of conflict.

“I can’t take advantage of you like this,” he protested.

Kurt wanted to yell at him, to say, _that’s not what’s happening_. Instead, he sighed, and took a step back. “Come on. If you’re not going to give in now, we’re going to get some lunch. You need rest as much as food, but that will have to wait.”

It didn’t feel good to end on that note, especially with no real aftercare. He watched Teague haul himself to his feet, flinching as he tentatively brushed his backside with his fingers. Teague slipped his boxer briefs on with great care, then dressed in silence, buttoning his shirt, tying his tie, and donning his uniform blazer. Kurt waited by the door.

The food served for lunch was unremarkable, but Kurt found himself eating more than usual, as though he’d had an extra-intense dance class with Toby. Teague’s appetite did not seem to be diminished, either, and he sat on his marked behind with no complaint.

“Do you consider yourself to be a rule-follower?” Kurt asked.

Teague nodded. “I do what’s expected of me.”

“That’s not what I meant. Do you follow the rules because it’s the right thing to do? Or do you do what you are asked?”

He rubbed his upper lip. “I don’t see the difference.”

Kurt took a bite of his salad and watched Teague as he chewed. After swallowing, he said, “You wanted to follow my directions, but you didn’t. You had reasons for not doing it, and maybe you knew they weren’t very good reasons, but you did what you wanted anyway, instead of asking for help.”

Teague looked more and more glum as Kurt went on. “All right,” he said slowly, “that seems to be true. What does that mean for us? Am I—is this not going to work?”

“What do you mean?”

“Because I failed.” He frowned, shaking his head. “You said we were done. After… after I counted to eighteen.”

Kurt opened his mouth in surprise. “No, that’s—no, Teague, that’s not what I meant. I meant we were done for now, for that session. That you were done with that consequence. Now it’s over, and we can move on. You don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

Teague looked so confused and hopeful that Kurt wanted to hug him, but he just tapped Teague’s tray.

“I need to clarify this for you, but I can’t do it here. Eat all of that. Then we’ll go back upstairs.”

Kurt abruptly found Blaine staring at him across the room, several tables away. He was sitting with Thad and Jeff, but he paused his conversation, watching Kurt and Teague with what looked like desperate longing.

It was more than a little compelling. Kurt knew he was powerless against Blaine’s need, no matter how or when it might manifest, but he couldn’t let himself get stuck in that now. He had a responsibility to fulfill.

Watching Teague climb the stairs in front of him, it was clear to him what a stupid idea this had been from the start. How could he think he could handle a brand new school, and Blaine’s troubles, and— _this_ , all at the same time? He’d _heard_ Finn’s voice on the phone, how upset Finn had been when he’d told him about Teague. He hadn’t even bothered to ask Finn’s opinion before making a decision to do it. He’d just gone ahead and let Teague talk him into it. No, he couldn’t blame it on Teague. _He’d_ chosen this, himself.

“Go inside,” he said, urging Teague ahead of him. As soon as he closed the door behind them, he watched Teague’s control slide away, his face crumpling. “Oh…”

“I’m sorry,” Teague said again, hiding behind one hand, “I can’t believe I’m doing this, I’m so sorry.”

“No, come on. That’s okay. You get to _do this.”_ He took Teague’s shoulders in both hands, then wrapped him up in a hug. “Just let it happen. You’re doing everything right.”

“How can you even _say_ that,” Teague protested. “This isn’t me. I don’t—“

“You don’t ask for help,” Kurt said. “Only I told you that’s exactly what you are going to do. You think you can’t, but I’m telling you, you _can._ ” He stroked Teague’s cheek, observing the internal struggle so apparent on his face. “Come here. Would you sit with me?”

Teague let him take off his blazer. When Kurt sat on his own bed, Teague sat beside him, watching him uncertainly.

“I need to make a few things more clear,” said Kurt. “About what’s expected of you here. You’re so used to being in control of your own life that all the things you’re doing feel wrong. Perhaps you don’t have any idea what it feels like to really _let go._ ” He gave Teague a smile. “Trust me when I say I’ve had that experience myself.”

Teague shifted restlessly where he sat. “When you say _let go,_ do you mean… sexually? Or to stop… trying to hold back noises? To let myself say all the things I want to say?”

“It might be any of those things.” Kurt reached for his hand, and Teague took it. The small distance between them suddenly seemed to be far too much, but he stayed where he was. Teague needed to hear these things while he was still in a rational frame of mind, as much as Kurt could expect _any_ kind of rationality from him so soon after a paddling like that one. “Mostly, I want you to be able to do what I say, without thinking about it first, without resisting, and without being afraid.”

He laughed, giving Kurt an incredulous look. “Kurt… you don’t understand. I’m _always_ afraid. All the time.”

“I know,” said Kurt. “I get that, too. But your brain is lying to you. You don’t have to be afraid with me.” He squeezed Teague’s hand in sympathy. “When I was using that paddle on you, you listened. You did what I said to do. How did it feel?”

“It hurt,” said Teague, “but—it wasn’t as hard as I expected it would be, to take it? I wanted…” He paused, still uncertain. It was frustrating for Kurt to see that look when he knew he could erase it by pulling Teague into his lap, but he wasn’t going to do that yet.

“Your body tried to let go,” said Kurt, “but you didn’t allow that.”

Teague looked confused. “I didn’t?”

“For one thing, you stayed very quiet. Maybe you were afraid of someone hearing you. Next time I can help with that.” He watched Teague’s eyes widen and fill with tears at the words _next time,_ but he forged ahead. “You resisted crying until the end. That’s a simple way to let your body let go, but you held it in. You probably could have climaxed, but you resisted that as well.” Kurt held his gaze. “Did you think I wanted you to be quiet, or not to cry, or not to come? What do you think I’m _doing_ with you?”

“I don’t know,” Teague said. His words came out in pieces. “I just want—“

Again, he stopped. Kurt nodded, but Teague didn’t say anything else.

“You want to please me,” Kurt said. “You want to do what I say, to be good, _for me.”_

Teague put both hands over his mouth, covering up his horrified expression. “That’s—god, that’s so—“

“That’s exactly what I want you to do.” Kurt waited until Teague looked up at him. Then he smiled, waiting until Teague stopped looking appalled and moved into overwhelmed before hugging him. “That’s the kind of boy I need. That’s what it means to _submit.”_

He heard Teague’s breath shuddering in his ear. “Wanting to be… that way, for somebody else… you get that I’ve been told all my life _not_ to be that boy?”

“I see that boy inside you,” Kurt murmured, “and I want to tell him he’s okay, just the way he is. Right here, right now.”

“I can’t.” He clutched Kurt tighter, like he was trying to climb into him and disappear. Kurt rested a hand on his head.

“You are. You’re doing it. You’re trusting me, not because it’s rational, but for no other reason than I’m telling you to.”

He carefully released Teague from their embrace, encouraging him to lie down on his side, with his head on Kurt’s lap. That seemed to calm him down. They sat there in silence for a long time, Kurt’s hand on his head, stroking his hair, breathing together slowly.

“I can’t believe this is okay.”

Kurt sighed. “This is so okay. It’s just the way it is.”

“Is it like this with your boyfriends, too?”

“Yes.” He pictured Blaine, gazing at him with absolute trust, and Noah, blissful and satisfied in his collar and cuffs, and Adam, letting go a little at a time as Kurt removed his makeup. “It’s different with each of them. As I said, they all need different things.”

“And apparently I need to… to what?” Teague still sounded so baffled.

“You don’t have to know the answer to that yet. For now, we need to find a way to get you to this place, where you’re willing to submit to me.”

He shuddered. “I really want to figure that out, Kurt.”

“I know. I know you want to be good.” Kurt put his hand on Teague’s bottom and gave it a pat. “You don’t have to be perfect at it for it to be good enough for me. You just have to let me help.”

“And I’m sorry all of it is… such a turn-on for me.”

Kurt patted his behind again, and felt Teague’s response. “You can stop being sorry for that right now. You can’t control what turns you on. You can be ashamed of it, which I won’t allow… or you can trust me when I say it’s okay.”

“That’s the thing.” He turned over, wincing, and lay back so he could look up at Kurt. “I don’t really think it is okay with you. I mean, I can’t pretend I’m not attracted to you, but I can choose not to act on it. What you’re telling me is okay for me to do, that kind of letting go…” He gave him an apologetic frown. “That kind of feels like I _would_ be acting on it.”

Kurt sat with that idea for a while. Reluctantly, he nodded. “All right, I see what you mean. I suppose… it kind feels like that to me, too.”

“Maybe you want to let me because—of what you said. That it’s easy to feel, in those moments, like you want to do whatever the other person wants.”

He smiled at Teague, stroking his forehead, and watching him sigh in enjoyment. “You’re trying to convince me _not_ to give you whatever you want, in the midst of feeling this way with you? Not really helping your case.”

Teague laughed breathlessly. He was looking at Kurt like there was nothing better in the world, like…

 _Like Blaine had looked at him at breakfast._ Kurt swallowed, feeling a sudden rush of awareness of exactly what had happened when he and Blaine were talking this morning. _Blaine had fallen into submission, just like that._

“You really want to give me whatever I want?” Teague asked in a small voice.

Kurt nodded. “Just as you would do anything for me, right now.”

He watched Teague’s eyes close, taking that in. Kurt knew they could both sit there until they were drunk on this feeling—but it wasn’t going to help him, or Teague, concentrate in class. Kurt tugged on his shoulder, and they sat up slowly. Teague yawned.

“This wasn’t the best timing,” Kurt said ruefully. “I don’t want to leave, but I also don’t want to be late for civics. I will think about what you said. Would you please come back here after fourth period, as we had originally planned, and I’ll have an answer for you by then?”

“All right,” Teague agreed.

“And…” Kurt made sure Teague was looking at him from a reasonable distance. “I’m thinking you should ask me now, because if you don’t, I’m just going to tell you to do it anyway.”

“Oh.” Teague opened his mouth and closed it a few times before managing, “May I please have permission to—to have one or more orgasms, between now and the time we see one another next?”

Kurt struggled not to smile at the specificity of his request. This wasn’t a teasing matter. “You may.”

Teague let out a slow breath. “Okay, you’re right, that felt really good. Not even because of what I’m asking for, but just… asking you. For anything.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed. “That’s wonderful. I’m proud of you.”

He wasn’t going to stick around to watch Teague’s reaction to that statement, because if he didn’t get out of that room quickly, both of them were _definitely_ going to be late.


	6. Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt calls Irene and gets some advice before proceeding with Teague. When Blaine refuses to do his homework, Kurt intervenes.

Kurt’s civics class was in the kiva in Buerck Hall. He enjoyed Mr. Vince’s format, discussing the US Constitution and other primary source documents in a kind of modified Socratic seminar, but today his head wasn’t in the material. It was frustrating to feel so distracted, especially when he was actually motivated to participate, but at least Mr. Vince didn’t call on him.

On his way to French class, he thought about who he could call for advice about his situation. Tess would be ideal. He knew Tessera was closed on Monday, but he suspected she had plenty of other duties to occupy her time. He could call Dr. Howell’s office and make an appointment, but considering Dr. Howell’s current circumstances with Finn, it might be best not to poke that hornet’s nest. Lauren would surely be a useful resource at some point, but neither she nor Finn would likely answer their phone during the school day. That left Irene as the most reasonable choice.

He took the spiral staircase down to the lobby and dialed the number for Irene’s coffeehouse.

_“Java the Hut, Sonia speaking.”_

Kurt settled on a bench. “Hi, Sonia, this is Kurt. I’m a friend of Irene’s.”

Sonia’s polite phone voice relaxed into delight. _“Kurt! I’m not sure we’ve ever been formally introduced, but you and I have met several times, and Darius talks about you all the time. Our whole family are big fans of Patrick’s music.”_

“I’m always thrilled to hear he has fans. The twins are your kids, right?”

_“Yes, that’s right. Mason and Michael—excuse me, I mean Madison, she’d be so annoyed at me for using her old name—they said you were attending school in Columbus now?”_

“Westerville, yes. I’m at Dalton Academy.”

_“I hope that means we’ll see you more often at the coffeehouse. Would you like to speak with Irene? She’s right here.”_

“Thanks, Sonia.” He smiled, hearing the same energetic enthusiasm in her voice that he’d heard in her kids’.

 _“Good afternoon,”_ said Irene. _“You’re going to have to clarify your preferred name with Sonia, or she’s going to wind up calling you the wrong one in front of the twins.”_

“Oh—yeah. Good point. I hope I’m not bothering you in the middle of the day.”

_“If I answer the phone, I have time. What about you? Don’t you have classes?”_

“One more today, but it doesn’t start until 2:15.” He sighed. “I have… a predicament, and I could use some expert advice.”

_“Mmm. That doesn’t sound good. Let me take this in the back.”_

Kurt wondered how _Michael_ had become _Madison_. It seemed impossible a parent would let her child make a big decision like that at such a young age. Madison couldn’t be much older than Sarah. And her brother, Mason—no, _brother_ wasn’t right; they used neutral pronouns. Sibling? Kurt shook his head, feeling muddled.

 _“Okay, kid,”_ Irene said briskly. _“I’m listening. Tell me what’s going on.”_

Irene’s no-nonsense voice was reassuring. “Teague—I mean, Cam—and I, we’re negotiating boundaries around discipline.”

_“That sounds wise, if you’re going to be doing that for him in exchange for his service. What have you decided so far?”_

“Well… he’s my roommate, first of all, so we’re around each other a lot, waking and sleeping. And he’s expressed a sexual interest in me, but I told him right away, that’s not happening. This is going to be professional only.”

_“Hang on a second. What I saw between the two of you… you call that professional?”_

“Yes?” He chewed his lip in consternation. “You don’t think it was? What did I do wrong?”

_“Nothing wrong. But I think you need to be clear with yourself about your own expectations before you expect your sub to obey. I definitely saw friendship there, and a little flirting.”_

“God.” Kurt hid his face in his hand. “I really didn’t mean to cross any lines.”

_“Slow down, kid. I’m assuming Patrick is not accepting any kind of discipline from you at the moment?”_

“No, he’s not submitting to me.”

Irene made a snort. _“Kurt, that boy is_ ** _always_** _going to submit to you, whether you realize it or not. But here’s a thought: if you’re managing Patrick without giving him discipline, you’re going to have energy to spare. Spending it on Cam or other boys is perfectly acceptable. But you’re going to need to be aware of your own reactions.”_

“Yes, I know. We’ve talked about this, the give and take. How it can be—intense.”

_“That’s good. To the uninitiated, it can feel a lot like love, or at least lust, but it’s not nearly so personal. You can liken it to the tide. You can be caught up in it, but it’s not about you. And it will be physical, but not always sexual. Have you come up against that yet?”_

“Um… yes. He’s definitely reacting sexually to discipline, but he’s trying to set his own limits, to control his own reactions, and… I told him it would be better if he didn’t.” He hesitated. “Was that the wrong thing to tell him?”

 _“Kurt, listen to yourself.”_ Irene was clearly irritated, but not angry. _“You’re in charge. What do you think?”_

“Well… he’s not letting go. And I don’t know how to tell him to let go of some things and not others.”

_“And how do you make him let go?”_

“Well…” Kurt stood up, walking the length of the vaulted lobby, then turning around to walk back. “I… use my voice, like in theater, varying pitch and tone and volume. I touch him, hold him. I listen to him, make sure he feels heard.”

 _“I notice you haven’t mentioned any of the tools I provided.”_ She sounded amused. _“Kurt, he’s not your boyfriend. You’re not there to snuggle him. You determine his limits, you get his consent, you restrain him, you spank him. That’s it. Now what about aftercare?”_

He laughed nervously. “I think you’d better tell me, since I got the last one so wrong.”

_“Don’t tear yourself down, Kurt, it’s not going to help. Here’s a basic script: you help them lie down, you give them a blanket to stay warm, and you watch them. If they look like they need release, you give them privacy to handle that on their own. Then you bring them drink, and food, and you stay with them. If they’re having a reaction, you call their emergency contact, and you send them home. And then—this is important—you give yourself all the same things. Lie down, stay warm, feel your feelings, eat and drink, and monitor yourself. Ideally, have someone nearby to help you, if that’s needed. That could very well be Cam.”_

“Oh.” Kurt stopped walking and stood in the middle of the lobby. “I… yes. That sounds… god, I feel so stupid.”

_“But Kurt, what I’m describing, that’s how it will be with clients. In this case, Cam is at least a friend, or possibly could turn into a lover—and don’t assume that might not happen, if you’re both living with him and depending on him for so much—so you may choose to negotiate different things, the kind of things that might be appropriate in private, among roommates. But you can’t expect that to be your framework for how you treat him when he is working for you. Especially if he is attracted to you. Do you understand? There will be varying levels of intimacy in your interactions with him, and you must set limits for each one.”_

“Okay.” Kurt let out his breath out, feeling it come easier. “Yes. That makes a lot of sense.”

_“You’ve got good instincts, kid, but you can’t assume you’re going to be able to figure this out as you go. There are too many complex emotions at play. Negotiate it beforehand, and stick to the script, even if you change your mind and want other things in the middle. All right. How’d your boy like his toys?”_

“He’s not my boy, Irene.”

She laughed. _“Make no mistake, he’s yours until you hand him over to someone else. Don’t let him end up an open box. A bottom needs his Top. Now, the toys…?”_

“He appreciated the paddle,” Kurt mumbled, ignoring the curious looks from passing Dalton students.

_“And he’s serving as your personal assistant?”_

“Well, he has this idea about setting up a business, but I’m not sure I’m going to have—“

_“No, Kurt, I mean the service aspect of his role as your sub. He drove you to Columbus; he was bringing you coffee. Is he managing anything else?”_

“Ohhh.” Kurt could suddenly see it, like Irene had put her hand on the focus of his binoculars, and everything became clear. “He’s doing _service._ That’s how he’s submitting to me. It doesn’t have to be sexual.”

_“… Right? I got the sense he was fairly well organized. Did you put him in charge of keeping track of your study schedule?”_

“No… no, I think I can handle that myself.” Now his mind was whirling. “What else could he manage?”

_“Hey, you get to pick. When a service sub can manage his own responsibilities on top of his duties, you have a lot of options. He’s already there in your room, so you could give him morning and evening duties.”_

“Um,” Kurt said, flushing. “He made me coffee this morning.”

_“Nice. I haven’t had a service sub at my house in years. For now, keep it straightforward: meals, tidying, that sort of thing. If I were you, I’d have him manage your daily schedule, even if you can do it yourself. Brief you in the morning, as a steward or majordomo might do for an estate.”_

“A majordomo—Stephen is Tess’s majordomo!” he exclaimed.

_“That’s right. I’m sure he does a morning briefing for her. Cam might benefit from more complex requests at some point, if you get the idea he’s getting restless or defiant. Seeing to your entertainment, or an artistic or problem-solving task. My subs did gardening and bonsai trimming, depending on whether they benefited from gross motor or fine motor tasks.”_

Kurt opened his mouth to say _that’s why Carole enjoys gardening so much,_ but he thought better of it before any words came out. “Thank you so much, Irene. This was enormously helpful.”

_“I’m glad to hear it, kid. I’ll look forward to hearing more about how things go with this boy, as well as your business ventures. Get to class, now.”_

She hung up before he could say “Yes, ma’am.” He tucked his phone into his pocket, and then he hugged himself in excitement. He was definitely going to need to find another outlet for all this energy.

French class felt much more manageable than civics had. He engaged in friendly dialogue with his partner, Marcus, who had a terrible accent but knew more vocabulary than he did.

 _“Qu'est-ce que tu voudrais faire plus tard?”_ Marcus asked innocently, and Kurt had to restrain himself from replying, _I’m going to spank my roommate; and you?_ He practically skipped through the snow on the way back to Lerner Hall.

When he let himself in the room this time, he was the first to arrive. Teague had taken the time to make Kurt’s bed as well as his own. _Service,_ he thought, marveling. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

Teague arrived soon after, offering Kurt a tentative smile. Kurt smiled back, waiting beside his bed as Teague took off his coat and scarf.

“I spoke with Tib, on the phone,” he said. “She helped me clarify some things.”

Teague nodded. “What did you learn?”

Kurt held out his hand, and when Teague took it, he led him over to sit beside him on the bed. “It turns out we have two different relationships here, you and I. You might say one is between Kurt and Teague, and the other is between Porcelain and Cam. The first, that’s our friendship. You and I, we’re becoming friends, and we’re roommates. And we have a gentleman’s agreement around solo activities in our own beds, as you offered. I’m going to suggest we revert to the original version of that agreement for now, to simplify things.”

“So that won’t be a disciplinary matter anymore.” Teague looked both disappointed and relieved to hear this, and Kurt felt something settle inside.

“That’s right. But I have agreed to discipline you, in exchange for your service. We’ll arrange for a schedule, as you asked. Discipline won’t be a sexual activity. You might have sexual reactions to the things I do for you, and that’s your business. I’ll give you space and privacy in which to manage that, if it happens, but I won’t participate.”

“All right.” Teague already looked calmer. _He’s responding to me, taking charge,_ Kurt realized. He smiled, and Teague ducked his head, blushing.

“I’ve been going about the end part wrong, the aftercare. I didn’t realize I was taking care of _you_ in order to care for _myself._ With my boyfriends, we would do that together, but that’s not how it will be with you and me. I’ll make sure you have what you need, and then I’ll manage my own aftercare. Now… it’s possible you might need support afterward, if you feel worried, or scared, or confused. If that happens, it’s okay to ask me for help. But you might decide it’s preferable to have another friend for that, somebody you could call.”

Teague was already shaking his head. “I don’t have anybody I _could_ call. There’s no one I trust enough for that.”

 _And yet you trust me, whom you met a handful of days ago._ “That’s all right. I’m willing to fill that role, as your friend. It just might feel confusing if you’re looking for something sexual at that point, because I’m not going to be able to help with that.”

“No, I understand.” Teague clasped his hands in his lap. “I’d… prefer to keep it to just us, if that's okay.”

“Yes, that's okay.” Kurt tapped Teague’s knee. “Now, there’s another aspect to this relationship. You’re submitting to me, turning your control over to me. I was going about that all wrong, too. It’s not a sexual relationship, so I _can’t_ have control over anything sexual. But you’ve been doing ordinary things for me already, just naturally. I hadn’t really thought about that as submission, but it was. The way you were offering me coffee, driving me to Columbus: those were acts of service.”

“Yes, as you said,” Teague nodded. “It felt good, because I was doing it for you.”

“Yes. I think that’s how I’m going to help you let go. You were conflicted about doing that, and I think it was because you could tell I was conflicted, too. Instead, you’ll take on more service tasks, like… like you were my personal assistant.”

Kurt wondered at what point Teague would look at him with disdain, and say something like, _Kurt, that’s ridiculous, I don't want to do those things._ But he didn't do anything of the sort. Instead, he straightened up, sitting taller on the bed, his face flushed, and said, “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Kurt said firmly, as much for himself as for Teague. He was already beginning to feel dizzy. “In the morning, you can help me walk through my day, tell me what’s on the schedule, what to expect. At night, you’ll have responsibilities before bed, and then you’ll report to me that you’ve done them. Most of them, you're already doing, but now… it will be for me.”

“All right.” Teague was completely calm now, his face serene.

“And you’ve also taken on a longer term task: figuring out the business side of things, if I—if I choose to do this for others. I’ll leave that problem open-ended, because you’re clearly the one with the mind for business in this room.”

Teague beamed. “I’m happy to put it to work for you, Kurt. You’ve inspired me.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” Kurt held out his hand, and Teague shook it. “Now… I wasn’t able to adequately assist you at lunch. Did you have an opportunity to follow through on your earlier request?”

“I did,” he said, without one sign of embarrassment.

“All right. We’re going to try this again, with some additional supports. First, would you select some music? It doesn’t need to be loud, just enough to be white noise.”

Kurt went to lock the door. When he returned, the Moondoggies’ new album was playing on Teague’s speakers.

“Take off your pants.”

While Teague complied, he drew Teague’s neatly-made bed down, then spread Irene’s cotton-covered blanket on top of the mattress. She was right; it was soft, and the texture of the cotton was pleasing to the touch. He might even have to get one for himself.

Teague moved where he was directed, not quite over Kurt’s knee, but pressed up against his thigh, his long legs dangling awkwardly off the edge of the bed. Kurt let the incredulity wash over him.

“You know, I have to say… this is the point at which I always feel like I’m getting away with something,” Kurt admitted. “I wouldn’t tell that to somebody who was a client. But I think I can tell you.”

Teague pushed himself up on one arm, staring up at Kurt with clear disbelief. “You—what? You think _you’re_ getting away with something?”

“See, that’s what I mean. How did I happen to come here and end up rooming with somebody who wants… _this,_ from somebody like me?”

Teague was already laughing, shaking his head helplessly. “Okay, first of all, Kurt, I think the odds of that were pretty good at a place like Dalton. Not one hundred percent, but better than fifty-fifty. And second of all, what the hell do you mean, somebody like _you?_ Because _you_ are…” He sighed, still chuckling.

“Okay, if you’re about to say _fabulous,_ you don’t have to finish—”

“I was going to say extraordinary.” Teague gazed up at him. “Really. I won’t belabor the point. But trust me when I say I’m honored by your willingness, not only to do this… this bold experiment with me, but to let me witness the process. I think you must trust me, too.”

“Even though I only met you a handful of days ago,” he murmured, and smiled. “All right. Now… lie back down, will you?”

Teague’s skin was still red but not raw from the earlier paddling, so Kurt didn’t worry about using the same tool again so soon. It didn’t seem to matter that they were both still smiling as he began. The circumstances of Kurt, wielding this tool on Teague’s behalf, crashed over him with the same force as it ever had. If anything, the unexpected levity made it feel even more intimate.

 _Like the tide,_ he thought, letting Teague’s responses guide him, drive him forward and retreat. He paused, resting the paddle on Teague’s flesh, and listened to his uneven breath.

“You can say _yellow_ when you’ve had enough,” he said.

He could see, out of the corner of his eye, Teague’s head shake. “Not enough. Please.”

Kurt could almost hear Adam’s voice, standing behind him, his hand on Kurt’s shoulder. _Don’t forget to breathe. Let the paddle be an extension of your hand. It comes through you, not from you._

This time, when he brought the paddle down, Teague let out a cry, and dug his face in the soft cotton blanket. Kurt could see his back shaking.

“All right. That’s all. That’s good, that’s so good.” As he helped Teague climb onto the bed, he repeated Irene’s directions in his head, _lie down, keep warm, feel your feelings, food, water, watch him,_ even as he himself could feel his own need for every one of those things. He pulled Teague’s sheets up from the bottom of the bed to cover him. “You’re doing fine.”

“God,” Teague gasped. Judging by how he was squirming, Kurt thought this might be a good time to walk away.

“I’ll just be in the bathroom,” he said to Teague. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Lie here and rest. You did everything right.”

 _I’m not abandoning him,_ he told himself. _He needs me to give him space to let go. I don’t need to be in control of everything._

Rational thought was slow to return, even after Kurt stepped into the shower. He let the spray fall on his face, something he had never remembered enjoying before. Somehow, though, after driving that scene, his skin felt different. He turned the temperature down a little, then a little more, until he was shivering, and it _still_ didn’t feel like too much stimulation.

When his thoughts turned toward Finn, and what he might do if he were here, Kurt had to put a hand on the tile of the shower to steady himself. If he didn’t stop _that_ thought in its tracks, they would never make it to dinner on time.

Teague was still in bed when Kurt came out of the shower. He seemed much calmer. Teague watched him as Kurt walked over to the fridge and retrieved the bottle of water he’d stashed in there earlier. He responded readily when Kurt helped him sit up and drink the water, and accepted the bag of chips Kurt handed him.

“Dinner starts in about an hour and twenty minutes,” Kurt said, “but I’ve been told food matters at this point.”

Teague nodded, eating another chip. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”

It was easier to cope with a little distance between them, but he could tell that even after the shower, Kurt wasn’t ready to be in a room full of a hundred and fifty boys. “Go ahead and eat that. I’m going to lie down.”

But before he could even get horizontal, there was a knock at the door. Kurt tied his robe over his shorts and t-shirt, hoping it wasn’t Teague’s parents.

It was Jeff, wearing a baleful expression. “Hey, Kurt? You got a minute to help with something?”

“Maybe? I mean—I just got out of the shower.”

“It’s Blaine. I’m about to bite his head off. Would you come take a turn? He has done exactly zero work on his chem lab writeup, and it’s due tomorrow.”

Kurt glanced back at Teague, who waved him away. “I’m fine, Kurt, go ahead.”

Jeff gave him a suspicious look as Kurt grabbed his key, then followed him into the hallway and closed the door behind them.

“Something going on between you and Teague?”

“Nothing that’s your business,” Kurt said calmly. “Perhaps he’d tell you about it, if you asked him.”

Jeff snorted. “Or if I got him drunk. Well, I guess that’s up to you and all your guys, but… seriously, you think you have time for _another_ relationship?”

 _I do if he’s going to be my personal assistant,_ he could have said, but he just let it go.

Blaine was sitting cross-legged on his bed, facing the corner, almost like Jeff had told him to do it. _Maybe he had,_ Kurt thought, eyeing him. _Although I doubt Blaine would have listened to him, if he had._

“If you’re not going to talk to me, you can talk to Kurt.” Blaine just hunched his shoulders, letting his head drop, and Jeff made a rude noise. “Fine, whatever. I’ll be at the IM until dinner.”

After Jeff left, Kurt sat on the edge of the bed, not quite touching Blaine, but facing the opposite way, so Blaine could see his face and he could see Blaine’s. Blaine’s glasses sat low on his nose.

“Bad day?”

“It was fine,” Blaine said tightly, his tone clipped.

“You don’t have to tell me about it. We can… do something else.”

But Kurt could already tell his tolerance for Blaine’s bratty behavior was going to be very different at the moment, coming so close on the heels of giving Teague that spanking. It was just about all he could do to keep his hands to himself. He let out a sharp sigh.

Blaine glanced over at him, not quite at his face, but enough so Kurt could see his expression through his lashes. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you have a bad day?”

“Um…” Kurt wasn’t sure how to respond to Whiny Blaine asking him about his day. “I guess… no, it was all right? I mean…” He sighed. “Honestly? I made some pretty big mistakes.”

Blaine nodded. Now his gaze rested on Kurt’s chin. “What kind of mistakes?”

“The kind that remind me I have no business trying to do certain things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Things I’m really not qualified to do. Like… I don’t know, heart surgery.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “You tried to do heart surgery?”

“No,” he protested. Then he saw the look on Blaine’s face. “Are you making a _joke?”_

“Maybe a little one.” Blaine shrugged, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “So what happened? Did somebody get mad at you?”

“Well… no. They didn’t. But I did get a talking-to, and I have to wonder…”

He sat there long enough that Blaine prompted him again. “What?”

“Just, I don’t know if they’re going to trust me to… do heart surgery next time. Maybe they’re just going to assume I’ll mess up again.”

“Hey, no.” Blaine reached out and took his hand. It was such a simple gesture, so _Blaine,_ that Kurt just stared at their linked hands as Blaine talked with him. “You said they weren’t mad, right? Did you ask for help?”

“I did, actually.”

“I’m really bad at asking for help,” Blaine confided. Kurt let out an incredulous laugh, and almost immediately regretted it. Blaine’s face went blank, and he withdrew his hand.

“I’m… really bad at admitting I’m wrong,” Kurt said.

There was a tense silence. Blaine stared out the window, the one that looked out to the corner of the building where they could see Teague and Kurt’s room.

“I’m really bad at eating when I’m supposed to,” said Blaine.

Kurt wanted to ask _is it the medication that makes you not want to eat,_ but he didn’t want to interrupt the flow of this little exchange they were having. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I’m really bad at not doing things I want to do,” Kurt said. “Even when I know they’re bad for me.”

Blaine laughed, just a little _huh._ “I’m really bad at… being calm. Without chemical assistance.”

“I’m really bad at staying under the speed limit when I’m driving really fast cars.”

“I’m…” Blaine tilted his head to look at Kurt. “I’m really bad at not wanting things I shouldn’t want.”

Kurt sat there looking back at Blaine. His pulse was thudding in his neck, fast and jerky. “I’m really bad at—at expecting not to want things.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, a little too fast. Blaine looked away again, but this time it felt less deliberate and more casual.

“Do you get all the things you want?”

Kurt cleared his throat. “Not all at the same time.”

“Maybe sometimes you do,” Blaine said. He was definitely teasing this time. “All your boyfriends, anyway.”

Kurt was suddenly rocked by the memory of _all the boyfriends,_ minus Blaine, plus Carl, in the big bed at Tessera last February, and the way they’d all dropped everything to take care of him. He opened his mouth to say something and found himself closing it again on a sob.

“Kurt,” said Blaine. He sounded almost reproving, as though Kurt himself wasn’t already feeling bad for coming in here to take care of Blaine and ending up dumping his feelings all over him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but Blaine was shaking his head, and opening his arms, and Kurt slid into them while doing his level best not to lose any more of his shit than he had to.

“It’s okay.” Was that a _kiss_ on his neck? Kurt turned his head away from Blaine’s mouth, curling into his chest with desperate confusion. “Can we just… lie down here?”

Kurt followed his lead, wondering exactly where this was going, but Blaine was warm and compact and he smelled _amazing._ Eventually he gave up trying to do anything other than cling to every moment of intimacy Blaine was offering him.

“It’s not like you haven’t been doing this every night with me,” Blaine added.

“True,” Kurt agreed. It was the first time Blaine had brought that up, but it made sense he would remember doing it at this moment, when he was still a little bit of Whiny Blaine. “It—feels so good.”

“It really does.” He sighed into Kurt’s hair, nudging his forehead with the frame of his glasses. “Makes me forget all the things I’m really bad at.”

Kurt tried tracing the contour of Blaine’s shoulder, the muscles of his upper arm, and he was apparently going to get away with doing that, because Blaine made a pleased noise.

“Is there anything you’re really _good_ at?” Kurt ventured.

There was such a long pause, Kurt wondered if Blaine was just not going to respond, but finally he turned his head and said apologetically, “I’m not really good at anything.”

Kurt had expected him to say that, so it wasn’t a surprise, but it still hurt to hear it. “I think you’re a really good singer.”

“Oh, well,” Blaine said, as though that wasn’t something to be noticed. “You’re really good at picking just the right clothes to make a look. I wish I could do that.”

“Not that it matters at Dalton, anyway. I can help you on the weekend, though, if you wanted to dress up.” _Not this weekend, because we have sectionals,_ he thought, but that was Blaine Warbler talk, and this was… something else.

“That would be fun,” said Blaine, smiling. “We could go back to Masque.”

Kurt caught his breath. _Back to Masque._ With care, he added, “I wish I’d seen you dancing there, that first time.”

Blaine’s smile turned playful. “You were too busy dancing with all the rest of the Warblers. I heard about you, though, from everybody else. They thought you were amazing. That’s another thing you’re really good at.”

 _“You’re_ really good at making me feel good about myself.”

“Is that a challenge?” Blaine gave him a little squeeze. “I was going to offer to sing to you, but if you’re suddenly feeling better…”

“No,” Kurt said quickly. “Please. I’d love that.”

“It’s not like you haven’t already heard all my repertoire anyway.” Blaine unwrapped himself from Kurt, then reached across him to snag his acoustic guitar from its stand. It was much nicer than Carl’s beat-up black guitar, maybe even nicer than Noah’s Taylor.

He strummed the rhythmic accompaniment to the song they’d rehearsed Thursday and Sunday, the one Kurt assumed they would be performing at sectionals this coming weekend.

_Your lipstick stains on the front lobe of my left side brains_  
_I knew I wouldn't forget you, and so I let you go and blow my mind_  
_Your sweet moonbeam, the smell of you in every single dream, I dream  
_ _I knew when we collided, you're the one I have decided who's one of my kind…_

It was a good song, though Kurt still didn’t know his part very well. At least he didn’t have to memorize all the lyrics, because he was mostly harmonizing in the background. Actually, listening to Blaine sing it when Kurt didn’t have to concentrate allowed him to hear all the surprisingly _pertinent_ lyrics.

_Well you can cut a rug, watching you's the only drug I need_  
_So gangsta, I'm so thug, you're the only one I'm dreaming of_  
_You see, I can be myself now finally, in fact there's nothing I can't be  
_ _I want the world to see you'll be, with me_

Kurt sang along on the final chorus, or as well as he could while drowning in the experience of Blaine singing to him, up close and personal. Blaine concluded by strumming a delicious ninth chord, smiling at Kurt.

“Wow,” Blaine sighed. “That song always makes me think of Puck, at Masque. You know?”

“I know,” Kurt whispered. He cleared his throat. “He’s… going to be at sectionals, when you sing it. He’ll be in the audience. You can sing it to him.”

It was awful and remarkable at the same time to watch Blaine’s understanding melt away, leaving nothing but a wary blankness. It was followed a few seconds later by Blaine’s show face.

“I always pretend I’m singing to one person,” he said, “but really, it’s too bright on stage for me to see any of them. So it could be to anybody, right?”

 _Goodbye, Blaine,_ he thought regretfully, and rose to his feet. “Thanks so much for singing. That is definitely something you do really well.”

“Thanks.” Blaine’s response was airy and pleasant, but not personal. That part of their conversation was clearly over. “Well, I’d better get started on my chemistry lab writeup. It’s due tomorrow.”

Kurt couldn’t feel too bad that fifteen minutes of disclosure and snuggling and playing music with Blaine had ended up resulting in Blaine doing the very thing he’d refused to do all afternoon. Jeff would be pleased.

Teague was working at his desk when Kurt came in. Kurt noted he was sitting on his pillow. “How’s Blaine?”

“Slightly more functional now than he was when I got there.” He set his keys on his desk. “How are _you?”_

“A lot more sore this time,” he admitted. “Maybe twice in one day was not ideal, but… I am not complaining.”

The difference between everyday Teague and post-spanking Teague was really something to behold. His face was open and clear.

“After dinner, we’ll discuss your duties,” Kurt said, “and the format for the morning briefing. And you’d be welcome to weigh in on the desired frequency of your regularly scheduled appointment.”

“Thanks. I’d like that.” Teague turned back to his work, before adding casually, “I feel like there should be something more I could say or do to let you know what this all means to me. _Thanks_ feels so inadequate.”

Kurt walked over to stand beside him, with Noah’s _yes, sir_ flitting through his memory, and the many times he’d experienced Blaine’s utter, unquestioning devotion. He placed his hand on Teague’s head. With a quiet sigh, Teague let his head lean on Kurt’s stomach, and Kurt smiled.

“Coffee in the morning will do just fine.”


	7. Charlemagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a surprise visit from Mr. Schue, Kurt discovers Blaine struggling to cope with his situation, and offers him some care and holiday comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modified quoting herein from 2x10 A Very Glee Christmas. Warnings for self-destructive behavior (poor Blaine) and singing. -amy

The second most disturbing thing about Blaine inviting him to sing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” was the song itself. Kurt did his best to play his part convincingly the whole way through, but it was hard not to stop and provide commentary on the content of the song.

The _most_ disturbing thing was the expression on Blaine’s face after the accompaniment track ended. Kurt watched as his awareness fell away, a piece at a time, until he was left blinking and confused. Then he laughed nervously and looked at the wall.

“I think you’re ready,” Kurt said.

“Well, for the record…” Blaine stood and picked up his boombox, gazing down at him. “You are much better than that girl’s gonna be.”

Kurt watched him walk toward the door, wondering if he should say more, about that song or anything else, but before he could make up his mind, _Mr. Schue_ was standing there, holding his coat. Kurt couldn’t help smiling as he rose to his feet.

“Mr. Schuester?”

Mr. Schue offered a hug, and Kurt accepted it gratefully. “Good to see you, Kurt.” He gripped Kurt’s shoulder. “And I think you get to call me Will now that I’m not your teacher anymore. If that’s not too weird.”

“Of course. I did it all summer, after all. And it’s not any weirder than me calling your fiancé _Toby,_ right?”

Will shot a look at the door, smiling sadly. “It seems you’re no stranger to weird these days, huh? Blaine didn’t even say hello to me this time. And the way he was behaving at Sectionals…?” He raised his eyebrows. “What’s going on with him?”

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again with a shrug. “I wish I had better answers. The short explanation is that Blaine’s dad found out about Finn and Noah seeing him, and forbade Blaine to have any contact with him. We think he had a—a kind of mental break? I was left out of the equation, so he and I are rebuilding our relationship from the ground up.”

Will nodded. “But… he’s still someone special?”

“Just a friend, for now. But on the upside, I’m still in love with him. And he’s actually gay.” _Which may be more than I can say about Noah at the moment._

“I call that progress.” Will was clearly still concerned. “How’re you doing?”

“Classes are harder, but the kids are kinder. My roommate’s been really helpful in easing the transition. I miss you guys a lot, though. All of you, not just Finn and Noah. I even miss Rachel.”

“That’s saying something. We all miss you, too, but I’m glad you’re someplace safer.”

Kurt felt a twinge at the layers of deception that had been wrought to send him to Dalton in the first place. He wished he could just explain Dave’s real motivation to Will, how much he’d _helped,_ not hurt—but that was Dave’s decision to make, not his. He put on a pleasant smile. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I am really bad at Christmas shopping.” Will looked helplessly at Kurt. “It’s not like Toby and I don’t have anything in common, but… I can’t think of anything good to give him. And you are so great at shopping, I thought I’d—“

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “You drove all the way to Westerville to ask me for shopping advice?”

“Uh, well.” Will picked up a chess piece from the board on the table, and laughed nervously. “Actually, I’m on my way to Columbus to meet with someone. You remember our director from _RENT,_ Clayton Pace?”

“Oh—is he planning to direct another show this summer?”

“Not here,” Will hedged. “It’s still up in the air. I’ll let you know if I learn more. In the meantime, we’re doing auditions for _South Pacific_ back at McKinley this week. We’re not opening it up to other students, just Glee club, but I think everyone’s going to participate somehow.” He nodded at Kurt. “You’d be proud of Noah. I think he might be planning to audition for the lead.”

“No, I hadn’t heard about that yet.”

Kurt didn’t mention to Will how he’d asked Finn not to call him at all this week. By the time the weekend rolled around, it would be winter break, and he would be home again, and they wouldn’t have to rely on the phone to communicate what they wanted to say to one another. Verbal was fine, but there were so many more things you could say with body language, especially when—

 _When you were singing to someone._ He smiled. “You know, I have the _perfect_ idea for a gift you can give to Toby. And it doesn’t require any shopping.”

“I’m listening?”

“Last year, when you came back from visiting Toby in Denver. You asked me to sing a song you’d written for him.”

Will winced. “Yeah. That was… I’m still embarrassed by that, Kurt. You were right to say no when I asked you to sing it.”

“No, you explained your motivation. I know it wasn’t because you think about _me_ that way.” He looked pointedly at Will. “But you never sang it to him, did you?”

“How do you know that?”

Kurt resisted rolling his eyes. _“Why_ haven’t you?”

He set the chess piece down. “I suppose… I was waiting for the right time.”

“Mr—Will. I’m just going to point out that I might be the poster child for _not_ waiting for the right time to make big romantic gestures? It's a mistake. Toby moved to Ohio for you. You love him. You asked him to _marry_ you. Sing him that song for Christmas. It was really good.”

Will was already smiling. “Okay. I hear you. I’ll think about it.”

Kurt walked with him toward the door as he shrugged on his coat. “Tickets to the ballet wouldn’t be a terrible idea, either. Or, heck, a Starbucks gift card.”

“He does love his coffee,” Will agreed. This time Kurt was the one to offer the hug. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll let you know how it comes out. Maybe I’ll see you over winter break?”

“Almost certainly. And—” He hesitated, then said, “Would you please let Noah know I’m glad he wants to be in South Pacific?”

Will looked at him with curiosity. “I will, but why not tell him yourself?”

“Without being there myself, I can’t know how he’s going to respond.”

He nodded slowly. “Because of his experience in Oregon.”

“Oh.” Kurt paused. “He told you about that?”

“Finn told me. Or, rather, I overheard him talking with Rachel and Santana at sectionals.” He shook his head. “What a terrible thing to do to your own kid. Just because Puck belongs to him doesn't mean he has the right to treat him that way.”

 _Noah doesn’t belong to him,_ Kurt wanted to snap, but Will wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t privy to _that_ part of their relationship. Kurt knew Toby must be keeping his secrets; he hadn’t told Will about Adam, after all.Kurt just nodded. “His therapist said it would take some time. It’s been a lot of trial and error on our part. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how much _error_ he’ll tolerate, but so far he’s coping.”

“From what I’ve seen, he seems to be doing all right at school. I haven’t seen any more outbursts or bad behavior.” Will laughed. “And he’s been doing his Spanish homework, which from my end is definitely an improvement. I’ll tell him what you said, though.”

Kurt stood at the door and watched Will depart with an increasingly sour stomach. _I came here for Blaine, and what am I doing? Distracting myself with a boy I barely know, and avoiding the people at home who actually matter. Why was this a good idea again?_

He packed his history book into his bag, abandoning any hope of comprehending the virtues of Charlemagne before lunch. _Not that it matters. Whatever Blaine needs, I’m not going to find it in books._

* * *

Kurt was in their room when Teague returned from class. He beckoned Teague over to his computer, pointing at the screen.

“Read these lyrics, and tell me if this is _isn’t_ the most manipulative, controlling song you’ve ever seen.”

Teague glanced at the interchange laid out in “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” and shrugged. “You’re right. It’s pretty manipulative. Here, this came for you in the mail.”

 _“And_ it’s still one of my favorite Christmas songs. I suppose that should have told me something about how I was going to be with boys, back when I started singing it.” He glanced down at the letter, and his face smoothed as he saw it was addressed to _Griffin, c/o Kurt Hummel._ He set the letter from Finn beside his pillow; he’d read it later, when he had time to savor it.

“Maybe. It’s still a popular song.”

“But here’s the thing,” he went on, frowning more aggressively at the lyrics on his screen. “Blaine sang this with me today while I was studying. He just showed up with a boom box and informed me he had auditioned for the Kings Island Christmas Spectacular. And then he proceeded to sing the _dominant_ part.” 

“Well, Blaine is pretending to be that, right? I mean, not very well, but…” Teague scratched his ear, raising an eyebrow at Kurt. “He’s acting.”

“None of this is acting, Teague. He’s not even _aware_ that he’s doing things that are completely outside his capacity. It’s like when he used to hole up in his room and attempt to study for sixteen hours. Eventually he would all but pass out, and Finn had to drive down to Westerville to make him take a break and feed him mushy bananas and toast.” 

“Yikes.” Teague grimaced. “Why do I think that wasn’t the end of what Finn did for him?”

“You would be correct. And now—he’s not even letting anybody do _that_ anymore.” Kurt turned off the monitor to Finn’s old computer with a frustrated sigh. “This is such bullshit. Why can’t I get through to him?”

“Kurt, come on, you’ve only been here a few weeks. Can you give yourself a break?” Teague went to the fridge and took out a bottle of water, then brought it back to hand to Kurt. Kurt took it with a nod of thanks. “Maybe Blaine needs some time to chill with you, during daylight hours, when he’s still in the midst of his delusions. Why does he do for fun?”

“As far as I can tell, Blaine doesn’t do _anything_ except go to class and study, except for that party last Friday when he got too drunk to stand. I don’t really want to encourage that kind of behavior.” 

“Understood. What else could you do together?”

Kurt thought as he took a long drink of water. “We could watch a movie? I have a large collection of movie musicals. Except I suspect that really would bring up questions about Finn and Noah. Too many memories.”

Teague nodded. “Did you bring any movies you’ve never watched with him?”

“I don’t think—oh.” Kurt sat up. “There’s one. We met in the summer, and this is kind of… seasonal?” He went to Finn’s father’s trunk, lifting out the top tray and flipping through his DVDs until he found the one he was looking for. He handed it to Teague.

“Muppets?” Teague said doubtfully.

“Emmett Otter’s Jug Band Christmas. It’s my favorite holiday movie. You’ll never convince me it’s not wonderful, so don’t even try.”

“I wouldn’t presume.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s worth a shot? Dinner’s in ten minutes.”

With some trepidation, Kurt went looking for Blaine. He wasn’t in his room, but the whiteboard on their door indicated that Jeff was _at the library,_ while Blaine’s just said _IM, back before dinner._ He returned to their room.

“What’s an IM?” Kurt asked Teague.

“It’s short for intramural sports. It just means non-competitive—at least not outside of Dalton. Plenty of people are competitive about their IM sports. Why?”

“Blaine’s note on the white board said he was at the IM. He should be back by now.”

“It's the building across the street. He's probably boxing, right?” Teague met Kurt’s eyes and frowned. “You’re not worried about him, are you?”

“Only a little. I really have no reason to be.”

Teague raised an eyebrow. “Because he’s so responsible for his own needs?”

“You’re not helping,” Kurt snapped. He paced across the room twice before Teague stood up.

“I can show you where the IM is? It’s not far.”

Kurt would have dashed out the door without his coat on, but Teague’s presence gave him the opportunity to think rationally enough to grab a bottle of water and a granola bar. He stuffed them in a bag, along with an enormous sweatshirt he thought might belong to Noah, then followed Teague into the hall and down the rear staircase.

They hurried across the grass to the large building directly to the south. Teague led them around the back to a smaller door. Kurt saw it had been propped open, not enough for it to be obvious, but just enough to let someone in.

“This goes directly into the gym.”

“Thanks,” said Kurt. “Hopefully I’m getting worked up for nothing.”

Teague nodded before heading back the way they came. “I’ll save you some dinner.”

The gym wasn’t as large as Kurt expected, considering the length and breadth of the building. He scanned the room, from two boys sparring in one corner to a third doing handstands against the wall. Then he heard the noises of impact, and he followed his ears around the corner to another smaller gym hung with punching bags.

The mats on the floor were padded, but Blaine had pushed them away. He was wearing his gloves, jabbing at the bag with more desperation than precision. Kurt could see how pale he was, and the patterns of dried sweat on his face. Under the exertion, he was shivering.

“Blaine,” he called, but Blaine ignored him. His eyes didn’t waver from the bag as he swung with his left, then hit harder with his right. Even exhausted, Blaine was clearly skilled.

No one else was in the room, but Kurt glanced over his shoulder before trying again. He didn’t bother to pitch his Voice the way Finn did, low and sharp to interrupt his actions. Instead, he spoke softly. “Blaine, it’s time to stop now. Look at me.”

Kurt waited where he was as Blaine’s hands slowly moved from a defensive pose to fall by his sides. His head dropped.

“I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?” He approached him slowly, walking around to the front where Blaine could see him coming. He didn’t want to scare him, but Blaine didn’t move. He stood quietly as Kurt touched his shoulder, feeling the way it was shaking.

“Can’t knock him down.” Blaine gestured at the punching bag. “It’s my turn, but… he won’t go down.”

“Blaine, your turn’s over now.” Kurt wasn’t sure what the bag looked like to Blaine at the moment, but it clearly was something other than what it looked like to him. He carefully unlaced Blaine’s gloves. “When did you get here?”

“Came over at four.”

Kurt led him away from the bag, his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, carefully walking him into the larger gym. “That means you’ve been here for almost two hours. You need to stop. Have you had anything to—no, of course you haven’t.”

Kurt put the water bottle in Blaine’s hand. Blaine drank half of it without looking it, then grimaced when Kurt offered him the granola bar.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Regardless, it’s time for dinner. Where’s the locker room?”

Blaine walked into the gym with Kurt close beside him. The boy doing handstands was gone, but the two sparring in the corner watched them both with concern.

“He gonna be okay?” asked the taller one.

Kurt nodded, but didn’t engage. Everybody was so _nice_ here. It was something he still didn’t expect to find at school. It also meant people would be paying attention to what he did with Blaine.

 _And with Teague,_ he realized uneasily. _Somebody is going to notice what we're doing._ He was going to have to be careful to avoid drawing too much attention from other students.

“Did you bring a change of clothes?” Kurt asked Blaine. Blaine nodded. “Still, I think it would be best if you came back to your room and showered there. Put this on over your workout clothes.” He handed his Ohio State sweatshirt to Blaine. “Go in and get your bag, and we’ll walk home.”

Blaine retrieved his duffel from the locker room. He walked slowly through the hallways of the IM building, moving as though he might be in pain. As they exited and descended the front staircase, Blaine stumbled off the sidewalk, and was immediately sick on the snow-covered grass.

“Oh, honey.” Kurt grimaced, fighting off his own sympathetic nausea, but he stayed with Blaine until he had thrown up all the water Kurt had given him. He handed Blaine his handkerchief and Blaine wiped his mouth. “Can you walk? It’s not far.”

“I’m fine,” Blaine snapped. He jerked his arm away from Kurt, giving him a petulant glare. “You don’t have to treat me like a baby.”

“No, you’re not a baby," Kurt said. "I’m pretty sure a baby would have _stopped playing_ to drink when it was thirsty.”

“I’m _fine,”_ he said again, louder.

Kurt tried to remain calm, taking Blaine’s elbow and giving him a gentle tug until he began walking again. “Why are you so angry at me? I’m not the punching bag.”

Blaine kept his eyes on the sidewalk. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”

“I don’t _know.”_ This time it was a whine. He let Kurt put an arm around him.

“You’re going to go upstairs to your room and shower. Then we’ll talk. Teague will bring us dinner.” He put Blaine on the elevator and pressed the third floor button, giving him a look until Blaine reluctantly nodded. “I’ll be right up. Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay.”

Blaine blinked. Kurt watched him straighten up as the elevator door began to close. “I’m going to be okay,” he said, almost to himself.

Kurt found Teague sitting with Ingram and Ellison in the dining hall. He stopped talking as Kurt approached.

“Was he okay?” he asked.

“Not really. I’m going to need—” Kurt stopped, looking at the plate Teague handed him. There was pasta and broccoli and salad, along with two slices of plain toast and a banana.He let out a shaky laugh. “Um. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Teague said. He almost smiled. “Quick, before they see you taking the plate.”

Kurt wasn’t going to cry about Blaine in the cafeteria, but he did take advantage of the time it took to ascend two flights of stairs to refocus. Before he could get Blaine to remember anything, Kurt had to establish control. For that to happen, Blaine needed to feel safe—and there was only one thing that had worked so far to help Blaine feel safe.

Blaine’s door was ajar when he arrived, so Kurt walked in and set the plate on his desk. It took a few minutes of pacing and listening at the door of the bathroom to realize Blaine wasn’t _in_ the bathroom, but was actually on his bed, buried in his covers.

Kurt erased the whiteboard on the outside of their door and wrote _sick, do not disturb._ Then he closed the door and went into the bathroom to turn on the shower. When he came back out, he began to take off his shoes, and as he did, he sang to himself, under his breath:

 _What would you think if I sang out of tune,_  
_Would you stand up and walk out on me?_  
_Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song_  
_And I’ll try not to sing out of key.  
_ _Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends…_

He kept his eye on the large lump on Blaine’s bed. It shifted a little when he began singing, and again when he tossed his first shoe by the door. By the time Kurt had his second shoe off, Blaine was sitting up, still wrapped in his comforter. He was watching Kurt with the listening expression Kurt was beginning to associate with Blaine trying to recall something.

Kurt kicked off his socks, then stripped off his jeans. Blaine watched him in obvious confusion, but Kurt could tell he wasn’t upset by Kurt taking off his clothes.

He paused at the end of the first verse, waiting in silence beside Blaine’s bed. Blaine opened his mouth, still thinking, and Kurt caught his eye, nodding in time to the beat. When he took a breath, Blaine took one with him.

 _He can’t ignore a cue,_ Kurt thought. He felt absolutely dizzy as they sang together:

 _What do I do when my love is away?_  
_Does it worry you to be alone?_  
_How do I feel by the end of the day?_  
_Are you sad because you're on your own?  
_ _No, I get by with a little help from my friends…_

Blaine sang harmony on the chorus this time, and continued harmonizing with Kurt on the bridge. Kurt helped him stand, pulling the enormous Ohio State sweatshirt over his head. It was followed by the rest of his sweat-sticky workout clothes, until Blaine stood there naked but for his socks.

 _Do you need anybody?_  
_I need somebody to love_  
_Could it be anybody?  
_ _I want somebody to love_

Kurt took his hand and led him into the bathroom. He put Blaine’s toothbrush into his hand, and while he brushed his teeth, Kurt took off the rest of his own clothes. He checked to make sure the temperature of the shower wasn’t too warm, then ducked back into the room to find a pair of clean boxers and a t-shirt for each of them.

From the bathroom, he heard Blaine sing, hesitantly, _“ Would you believe in a love at first sight?”_

_“Yes, I’m certain that it happens all the time,”_ Kurt responded instantly. He remained out of Blaine’s view,listening. There was a long pause, filled only by the rushing of the shower.

_“What do you see when you turn out the light?”_ Blaine sang. 

Kurt managed to reply: _“I can't tell you, but I know it's mine.”_

There was another silence. Kurt set the clean clothes on Blaine’s desk next to the dinner Teague had saved for them, his heart thundering in his ears. 

_That’s Blaine in there,_ he thought. _That’s what he really sounds like, and he’s right there, and—_

“I’m going to get in the shower,” Blaine called.

“Good,” said Kurt. He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “Good. I’ll just… I’ll be here.”

“Kurt?” Blaine was standing in the doorway. He didn’t seem to be upset, but Kurt wasn’t looking too closely at his face. “You can come in. It’s okay.”

He told himself it was because Blaine still looked a little shaky. _He might fall,_ he thought. _He needs someone to be there, in case he slips._

With some trepidation, he stepped over the lip of the rectangular tiled floor, doing his damned best to avoid touching Blaine with any part of his naked body.  They took turns under the spray, washing in silence. Kurt, who seldom washed his hair at night, gave up trying to keep the water from soaking it. He turned away from the spray, gritting his teeth at the irritating combination of cold air and wet skin and the pelt of tiny droplets. 

“You hate this,” Blaine said to him. He didn’t sound surprised by this idea, but rather like he was reminding himself of something he already knew—which, of course, he did. “You hate taking showers. Right?”

Kurt pushed his hair out of his face, nodding. “Yes. But it’s okay, I’m coping.”

Blaine nodded too, looking troubled. “You’re coping with... a lot of things.”

_I’m not going to cry,_ he told himself. “So are you.”

Kurt watched Blaine do that _oh, well, I guess_ shrug, and he felt a surge of anger. 

“You put all your energy into trying to _cope,”_ Kurt insisted. “It doesn’t leave much for anything else. Including being my friend.” 

Blaine stared at him as though Kurt had said something in a language he didn’t understand. Kurt shook his head and sighed. 

“Never mind.”

He got out of the shower first, looking for a clean towel. Blaine shut the water soon afterward and followed. He didn’t object when Kurt toweled him off. 

“Clothes on your bed,” Kurt said, giving him a little nudge. He was _not_ going to pat his butt; he was _not._ “Then you’re going to eat.”

“I’m really not hungry, Kurt.” It wasn’t a whine this time, or really a complaint at all, just an uneasy statement. Kurt nodded. 

“Start with the toast. Or the banana. You should be able to keep that down.”

Kurt stayed in the bathroom, carefully towel-drying his hair, and listened for any sounds of sickness from Blaine’s room. The only thing he could hear was Blaine humming to himself. It made him smile. 

When he came out at last, Blaine had eaten the banana and one of the pieces of toast, and was munching on the other one. _Now_ Kurt felt a little self-conscious being naked in front of him, but Blaine ignored him while Kurt put on the remaining pair of clean boxers and Blaine’s spare t-shirt. Then he sat next to Blaine on the edge of his bed, helping himself to pieces of broccoli with his fingers. 

“You spend a lot of time boxing at the IM?” Kurt asked.

Blaine shrugged. “A couple sessions a week. More when it’s not soccer season.”

“You said it was your turn, when you were boxing over there today. Your turn for what?”

“To fight. You go in the middle and you hit the other guy until he goes down.” Blaine looked away. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” 

_Not supposed to…?_ Kurt grabbed his arm. “What do you mean, you’re not supposed to talk about it?”

“It’s a rule,” Blaine said, squirming. “There are eight rules. And the sixth rule is that fights are bare knuckle, but it always seemed kind of unfair for me to do that, since—”

“Blaine.” He watched Blaine flinch at his tone, and quieted his voice to something more reasonable before going on. “It sounds like you might be talking about a—a _club_ of some kind. The kind at which you _fight._ Do you suppose Dalton might have one of those?”

“It—it might.”

“Okay.” He tried to keep any trace of anger off his face. “And I wonder how… I mean, if there were to be a club like this, how you might have heard about it, if people can’t talk about it.”

“Um…” Blaine shoved the pasta on the plate around with the remainder of his toast. “I might have started it?”

Kurt wondered, for a dangerous moment, what Blaine might do if he just flipped him over his knee right there. But _no._ He most certainly did not have any kind of consent from either Perfect Blaine or Whiny Blaine to discipline him in that way. Instead, Kurt took the plate from Blaine, along with the remainder of the toast, and set it back on the desk. Then he clasped Blaine’s hands, pulling him toward him, until he was looking directly into Kurt’s face.

“I’m worried about you having fights like that. _Not_ because you can’t handle yourself. You’re a trained boxer. It’s because, sometimes, you don’t know when to stop.”

Blaine was shrinking back from Kurt’s insistent gaze, but he didn’t look away. “Like today?”

“Like today. What happened today?”

“I had to keep going,” he said, sounding uncertain. “Until… until the other guy went down.”

“And what if he hadn’t ever gone down?”

Blaine’s gaze fell to his lap. “I would have failed.” Kurt watched two fat tears drop onto the gray cloth of his boxers. “But I wouldn’t do that. Andersons don’t quit.”

Kurt reached over and pulled him into a hug, and Blaine let him do it, hiding his face in Kurt’s t-shirt. “You didn’t quit. I told you to stop, and you listened. Did that feel like failure?”

Blaine didn’t emerge for several moments. When he did, he looked puzzled. 

“I don’t think so?”

“Why do you suppose that was?”

“Well… I was thinking about Charlemagne? You know, we’re studying about him in history.”

Kurt nodded patiently, keeping his face neutral. Blaine’s mind often made some pretty unusual connections, and it sometimes took a while for them to surface. 

“And he was a really powerful leader. It occurred to me that the difference between him and an ordinary king or general was that nobody gave the power to him. He just took it. Even though he was a conqueror, the people he conquered came to trust him, giving him more power. The pope even surprised him at church one day by naming him Emperor, even though he didn’t ask for it.” He wiped his eyes and sniffled. “I mean, yes, there was the whole killing and conquering thing, I’m not saying he was progressive or anything, but… people saw him as a leader, just because he was.”

Kurt nodded again, waiting for the big reveal, but that seemed to be all Blaine was going to say. He rubbed circles on Blaine’s back. 

“Can you help me connect the dots?” he said eventually. Blaine looked at him for a long time.

“Kurt,” he said, with a little smile. “That’s how _you_ are.”

It took a while to sink in. Even then, Kurt couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Blaine reached over to get the plate of pasta and salad. 

“So I’m Charlemagne?”

“Well, I’m not saying you’re going to get married five times and have numerous concubines.”

Kurt let out a shaky laugh. “Well. That’s a relief.”

“But, you know. You’re strong-willed, you’re family-minded, you’re friendly to newcomers. You inspire feelings of loyalty in the people around you.” Blaine nibbled on a lettuce leaf. 

Kurt tried to find a comfortable place to sit on the bed that wasn’t snuggled up against Blaine, and wound up propping himself against the wall by the window. “How do you manage to remember so much about Charlemagne? He lived such a long time ago. I suppose I’m having trouble connecting to him.”

“Maybe Mr. Bertram would let you perform the Song of Roland instead of writing a paper about his accomplishments,” Blaine said, grinning. 

“Oh, yes.” Kurt rolled his eyes. “I’m sure the class would love to sit through a countertenor recitation of four thousand lines of _chanson de geste.”_

“Beats yet another PowerPoint.” Blaine used a piece of carrot to spear some pasta. “Oh, and he was really good at delegating authority to the various groups he was leading. He made sure each group’s laws were set down in writing and carefully enforced, with overarching capitularies.” He clarified, seeing Kurt’s furrowed brow, “Rules that apply to everyone, not just some groups.”

_Rules that apply to everyone._ Kurt nodded. “That sounds useful. Especially when there’s not a lot of communication between individual groups. Their leader would want to make sure they were all on the same page.”

“It helps to know what to expect,” Blaine agreed. “That makes people feel so much confident. He also valued education. He had monks copy tons of manuscripts, because he didn’t want any information to be lost. And he kind of invented lower case letters.”

“Well… I’ll pass on the conquering, and the concubines, but I suppose I’m in support of the rest.” Kurt watched as Blaine ate the rest of the pasta and started in on the remaining broccoli. It didn’t matter one bit that his own stomach was growling. “And I think I just learned more in ten minutes about Charlemagne than I remember from forty-five minutes of reading this afternoon. You and I need to do more studying together.” 

“Yes!” Blaine reached out and grasped his hand. “I miss our Sunday night study sessions. Maybe we could even go back to the Lima Bean some time, just to study there. I mean, now we have Warblers practice on Sunday evenings, but… we could go earlier?”

“I’d love that.” Blaine’s earnest enthusiasm, particularly while dressed only in his underwear, was definitely having an effect on Kurt. “So I was wondering, if you think you have time… maybe you might be interested in watching a movie with me? A Christmas movie. It’s my favorite.”

“Oh, Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas,” Blaine said, nodding, as Kurt tried to contain his surprise. “I’ve been looking forward to that. You want to bring it in here? We can use Jeff’s television.”

Kurt wasn’t going to be able to fit his skinny jeans over the pair of Blaine’s boxers he was wearing, so he borrowed Blaine’s bathrobe instead. He hurried down the hall and around the corner to his own room, hoping to avoid being noticed. 

He let himself in and found Teague on the phone. 

“It’s not like that at all,” Teague was saying. He paused, making eye contact with Kurt. “Hang on a moment.” He pressed the mute button, eyeing Kurt in Blaine’s robe. 

“Thanks again for the food,” said Kurt, picking up the Emmet Otter DVD. “He ate it. And he remembered this was my favorite movie. I guess I told him that last summer, and—he remembered.”

Teague smiled. It was the kind of expression Kurt never saw him wear outside their room. “Progress. Have fun, be safe.” 

Kurt’s dismissal of that suggestion died in his throat. The only kind of activity the four of them had this summer in the context of _being safe_ had happened within one day of Noah and Blaine reuniting. Months later, when Finn and Blaine had finally come to terms with their own physical relationship, they’d been ready to invite Blaine into their fluid compact. Kurt himself hadn’t yet done anything with Blaine that necessitated _being safe._ He couldn’t imagine it would even come up. The idea was ludicrous.

And, of course, thinking about it was a tremendous turn-on. There was no way Blaine wasn’t going to notice that, especially not with Kurt in boxers and a t-shirt. Kurt paused to change into one of his own pairs of underwear, something that would contain him a little better, then put a pair of yoga pants over that. 

Teague was back on the phone. He waved a distracted goodbye to Kurt as he said to the caller on the other end, “You know, you’re being awfully judgmental for somebody who’s already living outside so many norms. I’m just saying…”

Blaine greeted Kurt at the door to his room, and he was also on the phone. 

“Lerner Hall, room 319. Yes, they’ll let you in at the door. Thanks.” He hung up, smiling sheepishly at Kurt. “I realized I ate all your dinner, so I ordered some Chinese takeout. You like Mongolian beef, right?”

Kurt found himself smiling helplessly at Blaine. “You remembered.”

“Yeah,” Blaine said, shyly. “I remember the important things.”

Then Kurt had to excuse himself to the bathroom to sit and cry for a good minute and a half, because that wasn’t even a little bit true. He wondered if there was any use in bringing up Finn or Noah, but in the end, he had to concede there probably wasn’t. 

_He’s not going to reintegrate overnight,_ he told himself. _You need to wait until he gets to a place where he trusts you enough to take him down, for real._

When he came back out of the bathroom, Blaine was seated in the comfortable chair in front of the television. Kurt moved to sit on the floor in front of him, but Blaine patted the space on the chair beside him instead. 

“There’s room,” he insisted. “Bring the comforter.” 

<https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6bebp0> -  _here's the video Kurt and Blaine are watching. -amy_

From the first opening notes of banjo and piano, Kurt was thrust back into memories of himself at age six, sitting with his mom on the green couch. He hummed along to the music quietly under his breath until Blaine poked him and gestured at the screen, his eyes dancing. 

“Come on. There’s no way you don’t know all the words.”

“I know them,” Kurt said. “It doesn’t mean I have to sing them. Some people would be annoyed by that.” 

“Well, I’m not some people.” 

Obligingly, Kurt opened his mouth and sang:

_Head full of good thoughts, belly full of grub  
_ _Money in your pocket when there ain't no hole in the washtub…_

It was a little embarrassing for Kurt to demonstrate how well knew _all_ the lyrics to the songs, but Blaine looked completely delighted by Kurt singing along. He laughed and made happy noises in all the right places, and added thoughtful comments about the sets and puppetry. 

When Kurt was unable to sing any more in the middle of the duet between Emmett and his mother, Blaine wrapped Kurt up in a full-body hug, and, to Kurt's astonishment, took over the melody on the third verse: 

_Like a baby when it is sleeping_  
_In its loving mother's arms_  
_What a newborn baby dreams is a mystery_  
_But his life will find a purpose_  
_And in time he'll understand  
_ _When the river meets the sea_

Kurt, lacking a handkerchief, had to sniff through the rest of the song. “How do you know those lyrics? You’ve never seen this before.”

“It’s on the John Denver Muppet Christmas album,” Blaine said. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they asked me to sing it at King’s Island next week. It’s a crowd favorite, even though it’s technically not a Christmas song.” 

Kurt nestled closer in Blaine’s arms. “I wish I could watch you perform there.” 

“You’d be welcome to come?”

“I have—um.” Kurt wasn’t sure how to bring up either Carl and Emma’s Christmas Eve party, much less the special wedding reception Tessera was hosting for his dad and Carole. Neither seemed like they would fit into Blaine’s understanding of who Kurt was. “Family obligations that weekend.” 

Blaine seemed satisfied with that answer. “Well, it’s not like you don’t see me perform all the time.”

“Maybe…” He held his breath. “Are you coming to your mother’s house over break?”

“I’m not sure yet.” 

Blaine sat quietly after that, watching the rest of the movie. He didn’t let go of Kurt until the credits were rolling. 

“That was really sweet, Kurt. Thank you for sharing it with me.” Blaine hugged him once more with a delicious sigh. “God, I’m so glad you came to Dalton. I’ve never had a friend like you.”

“Me, either. There’s something about having somebody in your life who gets being culturally gay, in addition to being--you know.” 

“Actually gay,” Blaine supplied, and they both cracked up. “Absolutely, I agree.” He gathered up the comforter into his arms and carried it back to his bed. “Of course, you have Adam, too. It’s not like you’re completely bereft of culturally gay men.”

The word _Adam_ on Blaine’s lips froze Kurt where he was. He looked around himself to be certain he was still in Blaine’s dorm room, and tried to keep his breath going in and out at the regular speed. 

“That’s true,” he said at last. “Adam’s definitely got that culturally gay thing going on.”

“I think it’s different, though, when you’re having sex with somebody,” Blaine added over his shoulder, as he spread the comforter back over his mattress. “It definitely changes your friendship. Was that true for you and Adam, before and after you became lovers?”

Kurt cast around wildly for something to say. “It was, uh, different. We were only long distance friends for a few weeks before I flew out to California to meet him.” 

Blaine gave him a conspiratorial smile. “To hear _somebody_ tell it, the two of you had designs on each other long before you flew out there.” 

Kurt nodded, licking his lips. His mouth was almost too dry to speak.

Blaine went on, as though he mentioned Adam in casual conversation every day. “Every time I hear his music on the radio, I think about that concert, and how great it was to meet him. That was really nice of him to send a ticket for me.”

“For us,” Kurt said. “The three of us. Do you remember?” 

Kurt watched Blaine’s face with bated breath, but before Blaine could respond, his phone rang. Blaine put it to his ear, listening, then said, “Sure, they can come right up.” He smiled at Kurt, and mouthed the word _Chinese_ before disconnecting the call. He rummaged in his desk drawer. “Is it okay if I just pay for it? You can pay next time. I don’t want to make you go back for your—”

“Blaine.” Kurt touched Blaine’s arm insistently. “Do you remember going with us to Adam’s concert?”

“Who?” Blaine’s face was expectantly blank. 

“Last summer. We were just talking about the concert, how he sent us tickets?” Kurt tried not to sound desperate. “Just a moment ago.”

“Hang on, I need to find—ah, here it is. I knew I had a twenty stashed in there.” He refocused on Kurt again, shaking his head. “Sorry, Kurt, what were we talking about?”

Kurt contained the bitter rush of disappointment as best as he could. “Never mind.” 

Dinner was delicious, but Kurt couldn’t find it in himself to ask Blaine any more questions. He just ate and listened to him talk about the project he was planning for history class. When Blaine said, “I was thinking a recitation of the Song of Roland would be really amazing,” Kurt thought he might start crying again.

* * *

“How can he remember one thing he talked about and not another?” he snapped at Teague later, after he’d returned to their room. “It’s completely nonsensical. I can’t discern any patterns at all.”

“Music does seem to be a trigger, though,” Teague pointed out. He took the leftover Mongolian beef from Kurt and emptied it into a plastic container, fastening the lid tightly before stashing it in their tiny fridge. “You said he calmed down when you sang Beatles to him, before the shower?”

“That’s true. But any details in conversation don’t stick. One little distraction and he’s lost them again.” He slumped onto his bed. “I don’t know how to even bring up Finn or Noah. He still thinks they’re off limits, and there’s nothing I can do to convince him otherwise. It’s like he’s trapped in his head and nothing I can say or do will let him out.”

“You will,” said Teague. “You think it’s not getting any better, but I think it is. He _is_ taking your lead.”

Kurt ran their conversations about Fight Club and Charlemagne through his head. Blaine had sai _d, people see you as a leader, just because you are._

“How do you convince people to do something they think is forbidden?” Kurt said.

Teague laughed. “That’s easy. You help them realize they were going to do that thing anyway, all along. Hopefully along the way you get them to agree it’s a good idea. And then... you stand back.” 


	8. Intramural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teague finds Kurt his first client and a location in which to conduct his business, but Kurt is distracted by worries about Blaine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references to drug use and overdose, as well as planning, discussion and negotiation of discipline, and gentle D/s, plus some angst as they approach the holidays. You also will get to know [Ingram](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/186334106549/kurts-boys-at-dalton-ingram) a bit better.
> 
> Kurt's story will continue in chapter 55 of Any Minute Now with his family in Lima, at Tessera, and at Carl and Emma's party, then will return here after holiday break. -amy

_intramural (adj): being or occurring within the limits of a community, organization, or institution._

 

When Kurt returned to their room in Lerner Hall after Warblers practice on Thursday, Teague was waiting for him.

“Are you ready for this?” he said, his eyes sparkling. He was holding an envelope, a box, and a file folder.

“Probably not,” said Kurt testily. He unzipped his coat and hung it up to dry by the door.

When he turned around again, Teague’s smile had disappeared, and his face bore his typically solemn expression. He looked far more like the reserved, calm boy Kurt had met when he’d arrived at Dalton.

Kurt felt a stab of remorse. Teague didn’t need to be chastised, no matter how bad Kurt was feeling about the Warblers’ practice. He went right to Teague and took his hands.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” He sighed, shaking his head regretfully. “David and Wes did a good job of proving to me this afternoon just how… _unqualified_ I am to sing with the Warblers. And that has nothing to do with you.”

“It’s okay,” Teague said quietly. “I really have no right to be this excited. I mean, we just met a couple of weeks ago, and here I am, getting caught up in this thing you do…and _that_ has nothing to do with me, either.”

“Hey.” Kurt gave their joined hands a little squeeze. “I’m never going to tell you that your life can’t change all at once, in a week, or a day. Trust me, it’s happened to me more than once.” He waited for Teague to look at him. “Please, show me. I want to see.”

“All right.” He picked up the envelope again and handed it to Kurt. “First: your business cards are ready to be printed. Here’s a sample. You can make any modifications and I’ll order them to be delivered after winter break.”

“My—?” Kurt opened the envelope and drew out a heavy linen rectangle, the kind that would leave an imprint in a leather wallet if left there too long. The card was a particular shade of gray Kurt recognized. Embossed on the card, in simple, clear typeface, was PORCELAIN: LIFESTYLE SOLUTIONS, and a phone number. He let out a shaky laugh. “Oh. Goodness. That looks so… official.”

“That’s your business number. I thought about voice IP, but it’s less secure, and more importantly, you’re going to want me to handle your calls most of the time. So here’s your business phone.” He handed Kurt the box. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do what you need.”

He opened the box and took out the phone, turning it over uneasily in his hands. “Can you—I mean, can we afford this?”

“It’s nothing. Trust me, you need a separate line. And last…” Teague bit his lip, watching Kurt from beneath his lashes. “I found you a client.”

“A client,” Kurt repeated.

Teague held up a hand. “I know, it’s a little premature. But I am confident word of mouth from him is going to do more for your business than just about any other kind of advertising. His family is more well-connected than anyone in the junior class, so he knows everybody and everybody knows him. He’s gregarious, but not a blabbermouth. And, seriously, he _needs_ someone to tell him what to do.”

“Okay, just… I need a moment.” Kurt sank into his desk chair, gazing desperately at the business card. “Seriously… what are we doing? What am _I_ doing?”

“You’re helping people,” Teague said. He crouched beside Kurt’s chair and touched his knee. “You’re helping _me,_ right?”

“Yes, but…” Kurt laughed again. “Like _this?_ What you and I do, that’s a personal agreement. This…” He held up the gray rectangle. “This is _business._ How can I put myself out there, publicly, as an authority? How can even consider asking people to give me money for something like this?”

Teague furrowed his brow. “Well, if you’re concerned about the legality, or keeping yourself protected, your lawyer seems like he—“

“No, it’s not that. I mean, perhaps I should be, but—yes, my lawyer is very thorough, and he tells me what we’re doing is okay. I’m thinking about how people are going to react to _me._ It seems like hubris of the worst kind.” Kurt shook his head. “Who would even take me seriously?”

Teague’s face smoothed. “Kurt, it’s just because you aren’t seeing yourself the way others see you. This is what I’ve been trained to do: to see the potential in others. There was no question in my mind, from the first moment we met, that you are capable of managing complex systems. And as for how others will react… truthfully, the way you present is what most of us at Dalton have been conditioned from birth to respond to.”

“Bitchy queens?” Kurt muttered. He brushed his bangs away from his forehead.

 _“Yes,”_ said Teague, laughing. “If you want to put it that way. Believe me, we all have powerful fathers, but we were raised by our mothers, and most of _them_ are actually in charge.”

“Oh, so this is some form of—of inverse Oedipus complex, is it? Thanks, that makes me feel better.” But Kurt actually _did_ feel better. He smiled down at Teague. “You’re awfully confident in me.”

“Yes. I am. Now, will you let me do my job? I promised I would help you finance your education, and I’m going to follow through on that promise.”

“How could I say no to that?” Kurt looked around the room with a critical eye. “Where exactly do you suppose I might _do_ this? I don’t think our dorm room is exactly the best location for a first meeting, especially if I’m trying to maintain some anonymity.”

“No, no, you’re right. The first meeting should be formal, but not private. There’s a restaurant close to town that often hosts business luncheons; I’ll schedule it there, and you can bill it as an expense. After that…” Teague tilted his head. “Based on my experiences with you, I think you’d want a private space to work, with access to showers. And where you don’t have to worry about being too loud.”

Kurt eyed Teague’s expression. “Why do I think you have a place in mind?”

“Because I’m pretty sure I do.” Teague stood up, opening the file folder, and drew out a photocopy of a building blueprint, marked with highlighter.

Kurt stood beside him and looked at the photocopy more closely. “Where did you get this?”

“Student resources archives. Remember the intramural sports building, where Blaine was boxing? This is it. The first two floors of the IM are used frequently by faculty and students, and the third floor offices have been remodeled recently, but the fourth floor is storage and vacant offices, one of which is adjacent to an unused kitchen with a small bathroom. No shower on that floor, but there’s an elevator straight down to the locker rooms.” He pointed at the room on the blueprint. “I can secure the use of that room for you, and make sure you’ll only be there when the rest of the floor is empty.”

“Hmmm.” He gave Teague a dubious look. “Do I want to know how you might accomplish that?”

“There are privileges that come with being a third-generation Dalton boy.” Teague waved it away. “Now, you might decide being on school grounds at all is too risky. If that’s the case, I have a lead on some inexpensive offices not too far out of town. But I think this location is ideal for the needs of your prospective clients. And in truth, if you’re seen by suspicious eyes, they’re just going to think you’re a couple boys fooling around in a vacant room.”

“I might have some experience with those circumstances.” Kurt handed the map back to Teague, trying not to smile. “Can I take a look at the room?”

“Yes, it’s not currently locked. We can go there after dinner, if you like.”

Kurt hesitated before adding, “And the—the client?”

“You’ve met him, actually. He’s a junior, as I said, like you. I’ll hold off on setting up a meeting until we can secure a space.” He looked expectantly at Kurt. “What do you think?”

He sighed. “Once again, you’ve exceeded my expectations.” Kurt reached up and rested a hand on Teague’s cheek, just for a moment, and Teague colored. “I’m still not certain I’m ready for this, but… I’m very pleased. Now come on, we’re going to be late for dinner.”

* * *

Teague took Kurt in through the front door of the IM this time. They had to scan their student IDs at the door before entering.

“As you saw, it’s easy to get in the back without needing to register your presence,” Teague said. “But sometimes it’s good to be able to account for your whereabouts. There’s nobody on the squash court tonight. We’ll practice squash.”

Kurt, who had no idea what squash might be other than a funny-shaped vegetable, followed Teague through the hallway into the locker room, where Teague placed a bag with a pair of long, narrow racquets into a locker. Then they returned the way they’d come, detouring at the middle hallway to walk to the elevator.

“That stairwell also takes you right up to the office where you’ll be,” Teague told Kurt.

He retreated into polite silence when the elevator opened and a teacher exited, smiling at them. They got on and Teague pressed the button for the fourth floor.

Kurt let out his breath. “It’s a lot harder to have someone else break rules for me than it is to do it myself.”

Teague gazed curiously at him. “Really? Why’s that?”

“Because if I get caught, I know can talk my own way out of anything. I can’t guarantee that’s true if there’s more than one of us. I feel responsible for you.” He linked arms with Teague. “Which is as it should be.”

The elevator reached the fourth floor with a ponderous lurch. They were both thrown a step off balance. Kurt glanced uneasily over at Teague, but when the door opened, all of his concerns vanished. They stepped out into glittering, dusty patterns of light.

The ceiling rose high above them, fifteen feet or more from the floor, but above that it rose an additional ten feet to form a barrel arch that spanned the entire length of the building. The side panels of the arch were decorative, but those along the center were windows intermittently covered with snow. Additional windows were set along the top margin of the wall, abutting the ceiling and bringing in far more light than Kurt had thought possible at this time of day.

“Why _don’t_ they have offices on this floor?” Kurt said in a reverent tone.

Teague followed Kurt’s gaze up to the ceiling. “I would guess because it costs so much to heat it. We can bring in a space heater if it ends up being too cold, but I think the room I have in mind will be warm enough.”

The room Teague led him into was fairly chilly. It appeared to be an office break room, with an old brown coil-top electric stove in the corner, bare counters, and two long tables with no chairs.

Kurt followed him across the kitchen to the two doors in the corner. One was a bathroom with a toilet and a sink.

Teague paused before opening the door to the other. “Keep an open mind.”

It wasn’t beautiful by any means. There were no windows, though the open vent near the top of the ceiling seemed to be keeping the air fresh and moving. The floor was bare tile, as was the rest of the floor, and the walls were decoratively paneled like the hall. There was a bulletin board on one wall, and an empty bookcase and a hard wooden chair.That was all.

“Private.” Kurt placed a hand on the chair. “More private than I’d anticipated.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Teague, looking relieved. “Having a second set of doors to pass through… and there are no cameras up here, I checked. Nobody cleans up here either.”

Kurt crossed to the door, running a finger over the lock. “How certain are you that you could get a key?”

Teague dug in his pocket and held up a ring, from which two keys dangled. “Very.”

Kurt walked over and took them from his finger. He had to stretch rather high to get them, but he couldn’t _quite_ accuse Teague of holding them out of his reach. “One for the outside door, one for the inside?”

“Yes.” Teague watched him lock the door from the outside, and then come back in, closing the door behind him. Kurt pointed at the chair.

“Have a seat.”

With confusion shading toward mild alarm, Teague sat, his hands resting on his knees. He watched Kurt carefully. “Did I…?”

“Quiet, now. Let’s think this through.” Kurt walked slowly back and forth across the small room in front of him. “A prospective client has met with me in a public place. They know my pseudonym, I know their real name. They’ve signed the release form and given their initial consent. We schedule an appointment. They’re instructed to come to… the locker room by the squash courts?” Teague nodded agreement to his suggestion. “You meet them there.”

“I… bring them up the elevator to the fourth floor?” Teague said cautiously. As Kurt nodded, he went on with more confidence. “They come into the kitchen and wait until you’re ready for them, and then you invite them in.”

“You stay in the kitchen. The waiting room?”

“The anteroom.”

Kurt smiled. “Good.”

“I stay there while you’re with the client, available to run interference if there’s an interruption, which there likely won’t be, or be a runner if anyone has trouble.” He paused. “What about afterward?”

“I think aftercare would happen in the interior room. Having something to rest on would be important. A bench with a cushion, perhaps. And I bring the client’s blanket, and all the tools, and keep them with me.”

“And the anteroom can be for that second stage of... aftercare, once your client is ready to eat and drink. And you can talk before they head out.”

Kurt approached Teague from the side. He reached out and rested a hand on Teague’s shoulder. “Would you feel secure in this room?”

“I think so?”

“And if I told you to stand up and put your hands on that wall over there, would you do that for me?” His hand remained on Teague, keeping him down with very little pressure. Teague’s eyes slid to the floor. “If I did ask. Would you?”

Teague’s gaze on the floor didn’t move. “Yes. I would do that.”

“All right. That’s good.” Kurt squeezed his shoulder, and Teague let out a long breath. He offered Teague his hand, and after a moment, Teague took it, rising to his feet. “Let’s go back.”

Teague remained silent on the way down the elevator. They went to the locker room first, where Teague retrieved his bag of what Kurt presumed were squash racquets. Then Kurt led them out the front door and down the steps.

“No sign out process,” Kurt noted. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Just to get in.”

“You know, I didn't even know squash was a game before today.”

Teague glanced at him, just for a moment. “I would teach you, if you wanted to learn.”

“Maybe.” Kurt looked behind them, up at the elegant façade of the IM building. It was almost dark now. “Being here at Dalton, I’m starting to realize the vast catalog of things I _don’t_ know about.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s discouraged by a challenge.”

Kurt laughed unhappily. “I'm trying not to be. It didn’t take me long to discover that growing up middle class would put me at a handicap as a performer, but… I think didn’t know how much of one until I saw what everyone here takes for granted? Missing out on private lessons because we couldn’t afford it. Not doing summer theater because I had to help at the garage. I mean, my dad would never tell me, but I know we lost money last summer when I did _RENT_ in Cleveland instead of working. And all that gas money, even carpooling with Blaine and Noah, he didn’t ever tell me he couldn't afford it. And now I’m _here,_ and…” He sighed. “Forget it. Don’t listen to me.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re telling me.” Teague climbed the steps of Lerner Hall, then opened the door for him. “I don’t think I’m ever going to understand, really, but… I want to?”

Kurt gave him a smile. “I understand that impulse. Noah once told me that I would never understand what it was like for him, growing up with parents like his. And he’s right. I never will, and as much as I want to understand, I’m glad I don’t. His father’s a horrendous human being.”

Teague walked behind him up the stairs to the third floor. He waited until they were in their room with the door closed to turn to Kurt, his eyes intense.

“I don’t know much about theater,” Teague said, “but I’ve been watching you pretty closely since you got here. Maybe this feels like a persona, a character to you, the way you’re fitting into the role of a Dalton student, living among us? But from outside, from here…” He shook his head. “You’re _doing it._ You’re making it work. Nobody’s telling you you don’t belong here but you.”

“That might be true. Most of the time I can tell myself I'm doing it. I spent most of my life trying to fit into places that didn’t really accept me.” Kurt shrugged out of his coat. “But this year, I found people who _do_  accept me _._ My Glee club, the people I’ve met, they’re like family. Finn, Noah, Sarah, Carole, they _are_ family. Going from that to this reminds me exactly how much being seen means to me. So, yes, I believe I can pull it off. That doesn’t mean it feels real.”

He sat at his desk and opened his history textbook. With deliberation, he ran his fingers over the edges of the pages, feeling their weight, the way they riffled as he applied pressure with his thumb.

Teague slowly sat down on his bed. Kurt could feel him watching him with restless unease.

“I wish I could help.”

“You are. You really, really are.” Kurt squeezed his fists together, letting his fingernails bite into his palms. “You’ve done so much, and I’m grateful for all of it. There are just some things I need to handle on my own.”

“Of course. I don’t mean you can’t. That’s not what I meant.”

“Teague.” He said it as gently as he could, knowing it would feel like a rebuke. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Teague sighed in frustration. “It’s ridiculous to feel—what I’m feeling. Because of _course_ you can handle this.”

Kurt turned in his chair to look at him, feeling the smile play at the corners of his mouth. “The truth is, I can’t. I can’t do it myself. But I can’t let you help me, either. That’s not your job. It’s someone else’s, and he’s not here.”

“Oh.” Teague sat very still for a moment. Then he said, thoughtfully, “Could you call him?”

“I could.”

Teague didn’t say _well, why don’t you,_ or the more pertinent _why haven’t you,_ but Kurt figured he deserved to hear the answers anyway. He looked at his lap.

“I should call him. I should have asked him for help, long before now. I haven’t, and I’m feeling… angry at myself for not doing it. I even went so far as to tell him not to call me. There are lots of explanations I could give you for why I told him that, and none of them are honest. The only honest explanation is _because I did._ That’s as close as I can come to figuring out my own motivation.”

Teague nodded sympathetically. “I think that’s how it is for most of us, right?”

“Probably.” Kurt shrugged. “I’ll see him tomorrow evening when I get home.”

“Is that… good? Scary?”

“Both?” He laughed, and Teague laughed with him. It was gratifying to see him feeling more calm. “I can manage until then.”

“And he’ll do… what you do for me? Spank you?”

“It’s a lot more than just spanking. You get that, right?” He watched Teague nod. “Just as the way we are together, you and I, that’s more than spanking. Tib could see that the moment she met you, and she was right.”

“I feel it.” Teague looked away. The flush climbed his neck to his jaw. “I feel… a lot.”

“I know, honey.” Kurt sighed. “I’m still trying to navigate that boundary, the one that says _I feel a lot_ and also says _I’m not your boyfriend._ I’m sorry if that’s confusing.”

Teague looked so flustered. “I can’t say it’s not. But I’m still glad you’re doing it with me.”

“I’m glad you want me to. And you still have the right to tell me to stop, any time.” He bit down on a laugh as Teague gave him an incredulous look. “No, I know how _that_ feels, too. It’s still important you know that you can.”

“Thank you.” Teague looked at the door. “What you get from your—from Finn. That’s not the same as what you get from doing this with someone else?”

“It’s different with everybody. I think you’re asking, is it different when someone is in charge of me, instead of me being in charge of them?” He nodded. “Definitely. I have a hard time accepting it from… well, anybody, even from Finn. But I do need it.”

“That’s interesting. That you have a hard time.”

Kurt nodded. “I can’t really explain why. In many ways, I’m lucky, because I feel _better_ afterward. Some people become anxious or depressed, like a hangover.”

“I can see how it would be… addictive, in a way.”

Teague said it casually, but Kurt thought he knew what he meant. He stood up and walked over to Teague, crouching down to look into his eyes.

“Winter break might be hard for you. If you need help, you can let me know.”

Teague shook his head. “I’ll be at Insolitos for most of it.” At Kurt’s look, he added, “A resort in Buzios. Brazil?”

“Of course.” Kurt blinked, sitting back. _B_ _razil over Christmas. Jesus._

Teague sighed. “I’m not saying I’m not looking forward to vacation, but… yeah. At least I’ll have lots of ways to keep myself distracted. I promise I won’t text you whining about how much I miss making you coffee.”

“You _can_ do that, though.” Kurt touched his knee. “Just because you have a lot doesn’t mean you can’t need things. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

Teague seemed satisfied with that, enough that he was able to settle down to study. Kurt returned to muddling through reading about Charlemagne, but he was distracted by thoughts of Blaine. Their conversation made him wonder how Blaine might handle being away from Dalton, from _him,_ for two weeks. It wasn’t going to be easy for him, especially if he’d be performing at King’s Island. Putting on his Blaine Warbler act always seemed to make it harder for Blaine to cope with the rest of his life.

“I imagine Christmas is hard for lots of people,” Kurt said later, when Teague paused in his reading to stretch. “Dealing with family is complicated, even when they’re wonderful.”

“Definitely,” Teague agreed. “I like my mom, but she’s intense, especially when my grandparents are around. I don’t think she knows how to treat me anymore now that I’m growing up. She wants me to be her kid, but she can see that’s not quite right? So we end up not saying much to each other.”

“I think…” Kurt squared his shoulders. “I think you should talk to… the prospective client. Arrange a meeting. If you think he needs help, maybe it would be good to give him something to anticipate after we return from the holidays.”

Teague’s face relaxed into one of his rare smiles. “I’ll do it right now. He’ll be so relieved. His father is a piece of work.” 

Kurt accepted Teague’s handclasp. “I wouldn’t assume it’s going to do for him what it has for you. Not everyone wants this kind of control.”

“Trust me,” Teague said fervently. _“He_ does.”

Kurt didn’t think he could stick around listening to Teague negotiating with this mysterious client on his behalf. He closed his textbook, picked up his phone, and headed for the hallway.

 _Are you busy?_ he texted Blaine.

Kurt waited where he was until he saw Blaine’s response. _Not really?_

 _I could use a hug,_ he admitted. _Other than that, I’m open to suggestions._

_I’m in the basement with hugs a-plenty. Jeff’s got somebody in the room and I’m staying out of his way._

That made Kurt curious enough to detour to Blaine’s door. The note on the white board said that Jeff was _occupied._ He wasn’t about to listen at the door, but he did send him a text as he headed downstairs: _Occupied?_ There was no immediate response, but Kurt thought that might be for the best.

He descended below the ground floor, tiptoeing through the low-ceilinged maze of old furniture that filled the Lerner Hall basement, and scanned the various students bent over their textbooks or talking with friends. It took him a while to find Blaine, curled up on a long bench flanked by a table.

Blaine was chewing on a pencil, but stopped and smiled gratefully when he saw Kurt. “Thank you for saving me from too many math problems. I was only supposed to do the odd ones, but now I’m working on the even ones for no good reason.”

Kurt sat on the other side of the table. “I thought you might be at the IM again.”

“Yeah, well…” Blaine looked a little sheepish. “I decided a break from boxing wouldn’t kill me. I kind of overdid it the other day.”

“No harm done,” Kurt said lightly. He was somewhat surprised to hear Blaine make reference to that event at all. He’d been an odd mixture of Whiny Blaine and Perfect Blaine and Blaine Warbler that whole evening, with a good dash of the person Kurt recognized as the boy he’d met that summer, the one he thought of as the _real_ Blaine. “I can’t say I have all that many other options for you. We could go for a walk, but your coat is stuck in your room with Jeff.”

He shrugged, closing his textbook and rising to his feet. “I don’t mind the snow if you don’t?”

It had actually stopped snowing by the time they walked out the front door into the courtyard. It was warm enough that the snow on the sidewalks had melted. They could see the headlights of several cars parked in the loading zone behind the building as students packed up their cars for early departure. When Kurt shivered in his thin sweater, Blaine put an arm around him and rubbed his shoulder.

“It’s funny,” said Kurt. “I’ve only been here for less than a month, and for most of that time, I’ve been desperately missing my family and friends. And now that it comes time for me to go home, I’m feeling… torn. Like I found a home here, one I didn’t even realize I had, until now.”

“That sounds familiar.” Blaine gave him a squeeze as they walked. “It was like that for me, too, when I found a home.”

“Was it hard for you, leaving Catholic for Dalton?”

Blaine glanced over at him. “I’m not talking about Dalton, Kurt.”

Kurt felt his heart give a lurch. He nodded, wondering how much more he should ask. “So it was hard to leave… that place?”

“I dream about it a lot.” He sounded very matter-of-fact. “Planting flowers in the front yard. That green couch. The smell of Beth, when she was really clean and snuggly. Wow, I miss that kid.”

 _I miss her too,_ Kurt thought, and found himself suddenly fighting back tears. _Almost as much as I miss you._

“I have… a picture of her?” Kurt said. “On my phone. We saw her at my dad and Carole’s wedding. Would you like to see it?”

He could only feel Blaine’s gait pause and resume because they were walking so closely together. Blaine sighed regretfully. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“I don’t think your father would know what you do, out here.” He looked at Blaine. “Do you?”

“He does know. He showed me the video he took of me.”

Kurt’s skin prickled with more than cold. “He’s—taking video of you?”

“Yeah. Luckily out here he can’t pick up any sound.” Blaine glanced at the street lamp. “He’s already asked me about you. I don’t think he’s going to say anything else about it, though. He can’t exactly stop me from having friends.”

“I suppose not.”

Blaine must have heard something in Kurt’s voice, because he stopped and turned to face him, his expression very determined. “Don’t worry about my father.”

Kurt couldn’t help but laugh. “Believe me, he is only one of the many things I’m worried about.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Blaine took his arm again. “He has only as much control over me as I’m willing to give him. Right now, that’s a lot.”

“But you don’t have to let him,” Kurt began, but Blaine pulled him closer, shaking his head.

“I do, Kurt. You don’t get it, because your dad actually wants _you_ to have control over who you want to be. My dad is holding onto all of that control, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. All I can do is comply. I get to be an Anderson. That’s who I have to be.”

They continued walking through the dark, avoiding the snow where it had drifted. Kurt’s mind was racing with conjecture and interpretation, and the impulse to kiss Blaine, right now, while he was reasonably lucid. Then he looked at Blaine’s face, and saw his eyes streaming with tears.

“I’m sorry you don’t think you have a choice,” Kurt whispered.

Blaine nodded. “I’m sorry I’m not handling it very well,” he whispered back. “I see how hard it is for you, at times like these, and all I can feel is—grateful, that you’re here.”

“It’s all of us, honey. All of us taking care of you.”

“All of you,” Blaine repeated. He wiped his face with his sleeve. “You, and Finn, and Puck.”

It gave him a tremendous charge to hear Blaine say those names. “And Santana and Dave.”

“Oh—” Blaine stopped walking and shoved his fist to his mouth, grimacing. “God. Really?”

“Really. I wish I could tell you all the things they’ve done. Dave has been extraordinary.” He touched the sleeve of Blaine’s blazer. “But I guess you won’t remember I told you that later, anyway.”

They waited there while Blaine composed himself. He sniffed, accepting Kurt’s handkerchief with a smile.

“It’s not so much I won’t remember,” Blaine said softly. “It’s like… I’m looking at it through a filter. Like I’m standing in the forest in a place I know, but the trees and underbrush have grown so thick, everything familiar is obscured and I can barely recognize it anymore.”

“We want to help with that,” Kurt said. “I’m here to help you make sense of it.”

Blaine blinked hard at the sidewalk. “I really don’t know how I came to deserve that.”

Kurt hugged him, not looking for permission, just wrapping him up in his arms and squeezing. Blaine’s own arms tightened automatically around Kurt, until they were both holding on to one another as hard as they could, as though for dear life.

“You’re my family,” Kurt whispered. “I’m not going to let you go.”

Blaine didn’t cry any more, but he didn’t pull away, either. When Kurt finally stepped out of the embrace, Blaine’s face was calm and pleasant once more.

“Boy, it’s getting cold out here.” He gestured back toward Lerner Hall. “You want to head back?”

 _Not yet,_ he wanted to plead, but he could see it was already too late. Blaine was right. It was colder out here than either of them could handle on their own.

* * *

Kurt woke up the next morning to the usual smell of coffee and the quiet sound of news radio. He sat up, yawning, felt for his slippers with his toes, and encountered a wrapped box.

He picked it up. It was wrapped in gold, smaller than a shoebox, and packaged with a tasteful amount of red and green ribbon.

“Merry Christmas,” said Teague. He pulled his desk chair up to face Kurt, holding a cup of coffee.

“From you?” Kurt asked, indicating the box.

Teague handed the coffee cup to Kurt. “From Cam to Porcelain. I’m sorry if that’s overstepping. We didn’t talk about how you felt about gifts.”

“I think it’s an appropriate thing to do,” Kurt decided. “And I love getting gifts, so there’s that. But I don’t want you to think I expect them, ever. And I’m a little sorry I didn’t think to get you one first.”

Teague waved that away. “Assistants buy gifts for their executives, but executives only buy gifts for their assistants’ wives, and almost never for their assistants. You’re in the clear, if you want to follow sexist organizational etiquette. You can take it home and open it there, if you like.” He picked up his leather folio. “Ready for today’s briefing?”

“Ready,” said Kurt, sipping the coffee. It was delicious, as always.

“It’s a short one today. In World lit, you’ll sit through other people’s presentations on Anna Karenina. Then in chem, you’ll finish your lab with plenty of time to write up your notes. After lunch is civics. If Mr. Vince is following his syllabus, the topic should be electoral politics and its influence on policymaking. Vince will give you time to do the reading in class as usual, so there’s no prep needed for that, but I tabbed the articles dealing with the electoral process in your course packet in case you want to review them. I don’t know what you’re doing in French; the syllabus is not at all helpful. Oh, and you should know that although nobody else will give homework over winter break, it would be smart to start reading _Candide_ for French now. If you read the first third over the next week, you’ll be ahead of the game when you return. That’s about three pages a day. I read the English and the French side by side, but your French is better than mine ever was, so you might not need to bother with the English.”

Kurt flipped through the tabbed articles in his civics course packet, nodding. “I’m grateful the teachers here are even teaching on the day before break. At home we would be watching videos in most of our classes.”

“Huh.” Teague shook his head, clearly mystified by public school traditions. “Well, hopefully it’ll feel like a light day, anyway. I’ll be packing up this afternoon and leaving Dalton around four-thirty.” He paused, then added, “Before you get dressed… there was one other thing.”

He pulled a file folder out of his folio and handed it to Kurt. The tab bore the words _Albers, I._

“You can choose to postpone this until January, if this is too sudden, but Ingram said he would like to meet with you right away.”

“Ingram.” Kurt glanced over the information on the forms. He vaguely remembered the anxious blonde boy from their game of I Never. “Does he know I’m Porcelain?”

“I don’t think he’s figured it out, no. I don’t know Ingram very well, but his roommate Ellison is a good friend. He’s the one who suggested Ingram to me. We all know Ingram Albers; his family’s been in oil for several generations, back to before the turn of the century, when his great-grandfather worked with Samuel Bush and John D. Rockefeller. Ingram is expected to go Ivy League just like the rest of his father’s friends’ sons, but he’s waffling. His father’s starting to come down on him hard to make a decision about where he’ll be after graduation.”

“So you’re saying he needs… direction? Maybe some encouragement?”

Teague nodded emphatically. “In every possible way. Apparently he can barely decide what color tie to put on in the morning without somebody holding his hand. Ellison’s pretty fed up with him, but he’s also not about to put their friendship on the line.”

Kurt closed the folder. “And you want me to meet with him—when? Today?”

“Over lunch. I booked you a table for two at the Union Club at 11:30. I can drive you, it’s just here in town. But I told him it was tentative. If you don’t think today will work, I can rebook him for after you return.”

“No, I think I can do this.” Kurt took a deep breath. “I _can_ do this.”

“You can. I was thinking you might not want to wear your Dalton uniform to lunch. Do you have a suit?”

Kurt tempered his laugh to a smile. “I think I might have one or two.”

* * *

Selecting his suit was the hardest thing Kurt did all morning. The Anna Karenina presentations in World lit didn’t do nearly enough to keep his attention. Chemistry, however, presented him with a curiosity: Jeff wasn’t there.

 _You want me to finish the chem lab without you?_ Kurt texted Jeff.

 _No, I’m on my way,_ Jeff replied after a long pause. _Save me a seat._

He slouched in three minutes before class was scheduled to begin, looking pale and tired but reasonably tidy. Kurt gave him a hard stare.

“Don’t tell me you locked Blaine out of your room all night,” he murmured as Jeff slid into his seat.

“Hardly. He came in wet and shivering and I couldn’t get a word out of him. Was that your doing?”

“We would have picked up his coat before going outside if someone hadn’t written _Occupied_ on the door.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Tell me you don’t own at least two coats. Anyway, I got the idea it wasn’t the snow that shut him down. What did you guys talk about?”

“Lots of stuff, none of which was helpful. Oh, he did tell me his father’s watching him on video cameras?” Kurt wiped his forehead in irritation. “That was a scenario I didn’t expect.”

“I hadn’t heard that one. Knowing that Blaine thinks it’s true, though, that might be useful right there.”

“Yeah, I already knew he was delusional,” Kurt snapped. “Now I know he’s _paranoid_ and delusional. Are you going to tell me what you were doing last night or not?”

Before they could get any further in that conversation, Ms. Revere instructed them to get their equipment from the storage shelf. Kurt brought over the beaker and distilled water, waiting until Jeff had set up the thermometer and hot plate on the bench. When he was certain they would have time to complete the procedure, he repeated the question.

“You don’t want to know,” said Jeff, glaring at him.

“What does that even mean? Of course I want to know. I wouldn’t ask if—”

“I was with a friend of mine who overdosed,” Jeff interrupted. “Okay? He was speedballing and freaked out and I was the one who got to watch to make sure he didn’t have a heart attack or a stroke or attempt to climb out the window. Once Blaine was asleep, I took my friend to the hospital. That’s where I’ve been all night. Happy now?”

Kurt paused, torn between horror and concern. “Is he all right now?”

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand over his face. “I… don’t know. They’re doing more tests now, and they’ll keep him at least few more hours to make sure he doesn’t have a seizure or problems with peeing.”

He sank into his stool. “God, Jeff, I am so sorry. You could have called me.”

“And expected you to do what? You don’t have a car. I wasn’t about to call an ambulance. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get charged with a felony as it is. Come on, can we just get this done so I can go take a nap? I had, like, two hours of sleep.”

That gave Kurt enough incentive to focus on the task at hand. When they’d finished recording the temperature and made the associated observations, Kurt tapped on Jeff’s lab notebook.

“Give it to me. I’ll do the writeup and copy it into your book. You go get some sleep. If Ms. Revere asks, I’ll tell her you’re sick. Or, on second thought, go tell her yourself. You look like d—you look terrible.”

Jeff gave him a weak smile. “I can take a hint. Don’t tell anybody about this, Kurt, okay? He doesn’t need anybody else to find out what happened. With any luck, he’ll chill out over break and come back a changed man.”

Kurt finished the lab, turned in both notebooks, and was on his way back to Lerner Hall before the bell tower clock struck eleven. A quick search on his phone told him that _speedballing_ involved shooting up or otherwise ingesting both cocaine and heroin. Even that felt like too much information. He also had a stern talk with himself about keeping promises before deciding Teague already knew plenty of his secrets; expecting him to keep one more wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d ever done.

Teague was already in the room when he arrived, dressed in a custom tailored black blazer over an absolutely beautiful understated gray sweater. Kurt was certain neither of them had come from a department store.

“Good, you’re back early. I was thinking we should—” He paused when he saw Kurt’s face. “What happened?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you. Only I have to ask: does _everybody_ around here take drugs?”

“That depends on what you classify as a drug. Caffeine? Everybody. Pot? Not quite everybody. Adderall? Still a lot.”

“Coke?” Kurt demanded. “Heroin?”

“Some,” Teague said uneasily. “Kurt, is this about Blaine? Is he using again?”

“No, this was somebody else. Jeff said somebody overdosed and he was up with him all night, and he’s at the hospital, and—” He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to stave off the panic that threatened to descend on him. “I hate hospitals. My dad had a heart attack earlier this year. And—my mom, she died, when I was younger.”

“That’s terrible.” Teague sat next to him. “I imagine those memories aren’t very pleasant.”

He nodded. Even as the sights and smells and sounds of the cancer ward sorted and resorted themselves in his mind, like a deck of horrific playing cards, Kurt couldn’t help but think of Noah. _This is just happening to me today. But now, Noah is always remembering the bad stuff, all the time. How does he cope?_

He reached out and took Teague’s hand, gripping it tightly. Teague didn’t seem to mind. He just held on, letting Kurt squeeze as hard as he needed to. After a few cycles of careful, lengthy breathing, Kurt let go again.

“Do you still want to have this meeting?” asked Teague. “I can call Ingram.”

“No. I do, I’ll be okay. It was just… a sudden thing.” Kurt smiled weakly. “I’ll get dressed.”

The images of the hospital, and what he’d read about drug overdoses, stayed with him while he fastened his tie and restyled his hair.

“It’s hard to imagine Blaine going through anything like that,” he said to Teague as they descended the back staircase. “Not that he’s ever overdosed, or at least not that I know about? Just—him, deciding to take that risk every time he uses, always knowing it could end badly. It’s terrifying.”

Teague let Kurt out the door to the parking lot. “Are you more worried about Blaine than you are about your other friends? Your family?”

“None of them use drugs, for one. But… no, I understand what you mean. It _is_ different with Blaine and Noah. Partly because they don’t always have the best judgment.” He sighed as he climbed into Teague’s BMW. “I suppose neither do I, but… it’s not like how it is for them. I’m irrational when I’m out of control, but most of the time, I _am_ in control. Blaine—”

Teague nodded soberly. “He’s always out of control.”

“It always seemed like it was easy for him to think he _is_ in control, though? That’s why it’s so hard to see him like this.” Kurt opened the file folder and looked at Ingram’s form without seeing it. “Well, he’ll muddle through winter break, and… we’ll see how he’s doing when he comes back.”

* * *

Teague pulled the BMW into a half-circle drive in front of a sedate old building. He dropped Kurt off at the front door.

“I’ll park and come in, but I’ll sit at my own table,” Teague said. “The reservation is under Celadon.”

The _maître d'_ led him through the tastefully furnished front room to a room in the back, where he seated Kurt at a table for two. He didn’t seem confused or dismayed to be seating a high school junior for a business lunch, as though this sort of thing happened all the time.

“Welcome to the Union Club,” said the waitress, setting down two water glasses with a smile. “I’m your—oh! Kurt!”

He stared up into Sonia’s round face, trying not to panic. “Um—hi? What a surprise.”

“I’m Sonia, from Java the Hut.”

“Yes, I… I remember.”

“Can I offer you something to drink beside water?”

“Water is fine, thanks.” Kurt glanced across the room where Teague was seated, facing away from him. “There’s another, um, young man on his way.”

“Well, I’ll bring a water for him as well. When you’re ready to order, you can wave me over.”

Teague turned and shot him a brief concerned look, but Kurt just shook his head. He sipped his water, wishing he’d eaten a bigger breakfast. He was already feeling faint.

“Thanks,” came an effusive voice from the front room. Kurt saw Ingram’s curious face appear in the doorway, peering around the restaurant. He wore a blue blazer with no tie and a pair of khakis, and his blonde hair was a little messier and longer than Kurt had seen on most of the Dalton crowd. He could just imagine Ingram’s father barking _for god’s sake, get a haircut,_ and he smiled despite himself.

Ingram’s eyes met his, and he smiled back at Kurt, looking relieved. More than relieved: _delighted._ He stumbled toward Kurt's table, bumping into chairs along the way.

“Hi!” He sounded breathless. “I’m sorry to be late, I’m—well, I’m usually late for most things. Thanks so much for seeing me.” He offered a hand, and Kurt took it, shaking it in bemusement. Ingram grabbed it with both hands, pumping it firmly. “Um—where shall I sit?”

“Across from me,” said Kurt, and Ingram immediately pulled out the chair, knocking into the table as he slid into his seat.

He looked around the room, his eyes landing on every little detail, taking it all in. When he noticed Kurt watching him, he laughed nervously. “Sorry. I’m not sure what to say. Is there even etiquette for a situation like this?”

 _Well, in my experience, you would stand with your hands behind your back, and call me sir._ Kurt smiled again, going for reassuring, and Ingram's shoulders visibly relaxed from just that little bit of comfort. It was almost comical. Kurt could hear Teague in the back of his mind, saying knowingly, _Didn’t I tell you he needed this?_

“You’re doing fine,” Kurt said, keeping his tone gentle and even. Ingram’s head bobbed agreement. His eyes continued roving the room, but between sightseeing trips, they returned unerringly to Kurt’s face, watching him hopefully. “You can call me Porcelain.”

“I’m—I’m Ingram. Ingram Albers.” He glanced at the file folder beside Kurt. “I guess you knew that.”

Kurt nodded. He sipped his water, and Ingram automatically picked his up, too. “Why don’t you tell me why you sought me out, Ingram?”

Ingram spilled a little water on his plate. He dabbed at it with his napkin. “Um… well, I guess I didn’t? I mean, Ellison told me—that’s my roommate, Ellison—he told me about you. About what you do. He said he thought I would get something out of it. Because I’m so, I don’t know, worried all the time?”

The funny thing was, Ingram didn’t appear to be at all worried, not about his wet napkin, or the way he was talking in disorganized bursts, or really anything at all. He was completely disconnected to his presentation. Kurt had to admire it, in a way. He wondered what it would feel like to be so entirely, un-artfully unaware.

 _“Are_ you worried all the time, Ingram?”

“Am I? I mean… maybe?” Doubt crept into his voice. “I don’t know. Maybe not?”

“You’re not sure.”

“That’s it,” he said, smiling in relief. “I’m not sure. But—most of the time, I don’t think I am all that worried, really? Or if I am, I don’t think about it much.”

Kurt did not laugh, but it was an effort. “So you’re not worried. Why did Ellison recommend you, then?”

“Pardon?”

“It sounds like Ellison knows something about what I offer. If he's the one who referred you to me, what do you think Ellison would like you to get out of this arrangement?”

“Oh.” Ingram considered this. “He said he wants me to make decisions for myself. I have a hard time making choices. I can tell it pisses him off—excuse my language."

"It matters to you what Ellison thinks?"

"Oh, sure, he's my best friend. I know he wants me to do better. But when anybody asks me a question, my mind just goes blank, and…” He shrugged. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Mmm.” Kurt waved a hand, and Sonia came right over to them. “Sonia, would you bring me a cup of coffee, and some cream? Ingram, would you like something to drink?”

“Um—sure, yes. What do you have?”

Kurt watched Ingram’s eyes glaze over as Sonia provided him with a list of drink choices. He licked his lips and glanced at Kurt.

“Do you like coffee?” Kurt asked.

“Not really,” said Ingram, “but I guess that would be okay?”

“How about tea?”

“Sometimes?” Ingram’s attention was already starting to drift across the room again. Kurt turned back to Sonia.

“Would you bring a selection of teas and some hot water, please?”

“Of course,” she said. Sonia’s face was full of questions, but she went away without asking any of them, for which Kurt was relieved. He leafed through Ingram’s file.

“I see here you’re from Columbus. Will you be there for the holiday?”

“Only for a couple days. My sisters chose Fiji this year, but the weather looks like it’s going to be terrible, so we’re considering a change of plans.”

“I imagine Fiji would be beautiful. You said before you like to travel?”

“Well, sure. My parents, they’ve taken us all over. It’s exciting.” He beamed at Kurt. “Fiji is usually very nice at this time of year.”

“But you’ve visited many places.” He watched Ingram nod. “Is there a place you’ve never been that you’d like to go?”

“We’ve never been to Egypt. I’m pretty sure my sisters would object. It's on my bucket list, for sure.”

“Mmm. What do you think would be interesting about Egypt?”

“Lots of things. Or maybe Kenya?” Ingram was watching him carefully. “Oh, and I want to go to Sri Lanka.”

“Any of those would be fine,” Kurt agreed.

“And I’ve always wanted to visit Chile,” he ventured. “Or… Peru?”

“Certainly.” Kurt smiled at Sonia as she brought his coffee. “Thank you.”

When she set the box of colorful tea bags down in front of Ingram, Kurt was intrigued to watch his reaction. Ingram’s breathing quickened as his eyes darted across the array. It was almost as though he was trying to look at each tea bag individually. He sat there for at least thirty seconds without saying anything.

“Ingram,” Kurt said, “you have to pick one.”

“I know.” He moved his eyes to the tablecloth, but they were quickly drawn back to the tea box. Sonia looked at Kurt in concern, but he put up a hand, and she walked off. Then he leaned in a little closer, making his voice quieter.

“I want to help. Will you let me?”

Ingram flashed him a look of relief, mixed with embarrassment. “Please?”

“It’s okay to ask for help. You’re doing fine. Don’t be worried.”

This seemed to be something of a revelation. Kurt had no idea which part of his statement elicited a reaction, but Ingram sat up a little straighter. “Okay.”

“You appear to be overwhelmed by too many choices. When you feel this way, you can start with fewer choices. First, you reduce the number of sets, then choose one from each set. Then you can pick from those.”

Ingram’s eyes had started to glaze over again. _Too many words,_ Kurt chided himself. He spoke even more softly.

“Touch the tea bag closest to you. Right now.”

Ingram did that. He stared at his finger pointing at a green tea bag. Then he picked it up and put it on the table, glancing back at Kurt. _Now_ he looked worried.

“Is that one okay?”

“Shh. We’re not there yet. Touch the tea bag farthest away.”

Ingram hesitated, then picked the purple one in the corner. He set it next to the green one. Watching Kurt’s face, he touched a blue one in the middle, and raised his eyebrows in question. Kurt carefully kept his face completely neutral, not providing any feedback as to whether he was doing it right or wrong.

“Now smell it,” Kurt said.

Ingram picked up the blue tea packet and raised it to his nose, inhaling. Kurt watched his nose wrinkle.

“Smell the second one.”

Ingram swapped the offending tea bag for the purple one, his face relaxing in pleasure.

“Which one smells better?”

He hesitated. “What about the green one? I didn't smell that one yet.”

“It doesn’t matter.” As Ingram continued to look uneasy, Kurt added, “Sometimes you have to consider all options, and sometimes you can stop after you find one you like.”

“I don’t always know which one to do,” admitted Ingram.

“I know. It’s okay not to know.”

Ingram scratched his head. “That’s not what my dad says. He says I _have_ to know. To make decisions.”

“Do you like the smell of the purple tea?” Ingram nodded, and Kurt gestured at the pot of hot water. “Then choose that one.”

“How do I know it’s good _enough,_ though? I mean… maybe not tea, but… other things.” The obvious conflict on his face was heartbreaking. “How do I _know?”_

“I don’t think I can solve that problem for you,” said Kurt. “But I can offer you an opportunity to experience what it feels like for someone else to make all the decisions for you. To have all your decisions taken away. If you think you can trust me with that.”

The way Ingram responded to that offer, so hopeful and hungry, Kurt wondered if he would need to introduce any kind of physical discipline at all to take him down. In the back of his mind, he could hear Tib speaking reprovingly, _You’re not there to snuggle him. You determine his limits, you get his consent, you restrain him, you spank him. That’s it._

 _But that’s not what he needs,_ he thought. _Or—maybe he does?_

“I guess I don’t know if I can or not,” said Ingram. “Trust you.”

“I get the sense that thinking about it isn’t going to help you make a decision.” He watched Ingram nod. “Do you trust Ellison to make that decision for you?”

“Maybe? He’s pretty great.”

“Is there anyone else you could talk to about it?”

“Not really. This is kind of where I usually get stuck, you know? And I either do _nothing,_ or I go ahead with it and hope it’ll work out.”

“And does it?”

“Usually?” Ingram picked up his tea cup and sipped. His face shifted from surprise to pleasure. “Wow, this is _delicious.”_

“It’s hibiscus. Ask for that next time somebody asks if you want something to drink.”

“I will. Thanks.” He gave Kurt a big smile. “That thing you did with me, about taking three and then picking one, that felt… a lot easier. I mean it. Other people have tried to get me to write lists of pros and cons and that always made me feel kind of lost?”

“I know how that feels. But you seem to understand how you feel about things in your body. You touched each tea bag. You knew you liked the smell of that tea, and the taste. Maybe the experience of doing it is what you need before you can make a choice.”

“The experience of doing it,” Ingram murmured. “Huh. Yeah.”

“Ingram… Sonia’s going to come back in a moment and ask what you want for lunch.”

Ingram quickly shifted to a blank expression, but Kurt was watching, and he saw the look of panic pass over his face first.

“I’m going to help you figure this out. No, don’t look at the menu. Just… close your eyes.”

Whatever he’d said about not being sure if he could trust him, Ingram was quick to respond to Kurt’s command. He sat there with his eyes closed, listening.

“Can you remember a time you had a really delicious lunch?” Ingram nodded, keeping his eyes closed. “What did you eat?”

“Lobster bisque,” he said promptly, “with biscuits, on Cape Cod two summers ago.”

There was clearly nothing wrong with his memory. “Okay, good. What did you like about that?”

There was a long pause. “I—I don’t understand.”

“Imagine eating the bisque. Can you taste it? Feel the texture in your mouth?”

“Yeah.” It was the same expression of appreciation Kurt had seen on his face when he’d tasted the tea.

“Describe it. What’s it like?”

“Creamy. Rich, and fishy, but not too much.” He was clearly struggling to come up with words. “Lumpy? That doesn’t sound very good.”

“That’s fine. Now, open your eyes.” Kurt waited for Ingram to come to full awareness, then handed him the menu.“You’re going to look in here for other things are rich and creamy and a little… fishy.”

Ingram took the assignment seriously. He quickly skimmed the lunch choices. It was striking that he didn’t appear to be even a little distracted while he did this.

“Baked cod in cream sauce?” He smiled, looking up at Kurt. “That sounds amazing. Do you think I could ask for biscuits to go with it?”

“That sounds perfect,” said Kurt, nodding. “Excellent. You made that choice quickly and without any trouble.”

“Hey, I did!” Ingram looked so surprised, and more than a little proud. “How did I do that?”

“You focused on what it felt like when you got what you wanted,” Kurt said, trying not to smile, “and you looked for similar solutions. Do you think you could try that strategy the next time you feel stuck?”

“Maybe?” Ingram didn’t appear to be concerned by this answer. Kurt felt an itch to _make_ him be more decisive—but _that_ wasn’t happening in this restaurant, not with Sonia waiting patiently to take their order. He beckoned her over.

“Do you know what you’d like for lunch?” she asked Ingram.

He straightened up, gave Kurt a look of gratitude, then beamed up at her. “Yes. I do.”


End file.
